The boy nodded, his forehead furrowed.
“If we could set up a sort of satellite dish listening device close to the house—say, right at the fence line—we could probably hear what they say when they’re outside, but that’s not practical. The dogs would hear us if we got that close, for one thing, and the men would come to investigate. Our cover would be blown.”
“Would they shoot you, like on TV?”
Conall hesitated, wondering how Lia would want him to handle a question like that. “That depends what they’re up to. If they’re dealing marijuana, they might not even have guns, and they sure wouldn’t take a chance on shooting a law enforcement officer. If they’re doing something really bad, they might think it was a risk worth taking.”
“So how would you get one of these bugs in their house?” Brendan asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Conall watched Walker who had begun cracking open boxes and peering at the contents. He wasn’t dumping things out, though.
“Depends,” Conall said. “Sneak over there, maybe, or get really clever.” He explained about the pizza box idea and why it had been a no-go so far. He also explained a little about laws and warrants and what he and Jeff had to do to make sure any evidence they gathered would be admissible in court, and why illegally acquired evidence wouldn’t be.
The kid listened solemnly, soaking it all in. Conall was afraid he had become the object of a minor case of hero worship. Still, what had it hurt to indulge Brendan’s curiosity?
Walker materialized at his side. “Can we go outside? I want to practice batting now that I can see.”
“Why not?” Conall gripped his shoulder. “Let’s be careful not to break those new glasses, though. Lia wouldn’t be happy with us.”
“She bought insurance,” Walker told him happily. “She said she expects I will break them.”
“Sensible woman. Bren, you up to doing some pitching?”
The older boy looked up from the array of small listening devices he’d been examining. “Huh? Oh, sure. Yeah.” Politely he turned to Jeff. “Thank you for showing everything to me.”
Smiling, Henderson said, “My pleasure.”
“Remember,” Conall cautioned as he escorted the boys downstairs, “the attic is still off-limits. Okay?”
“I wish we could have a sleepover.” Walker looked up at him hopefully. “I’d really like that.”
“Nope.” Conall made sure he sounded firm. “When we’re up there, we have to concentrate. What we’re doing isn’t fun and games. We’re trying to catch some criminals. That’s an important job. Do you understand that?”
They both nodded.
“Cuz you’re the good guys,” Walker said, “and they’re the bad guys.”
Conall tugged his hair affectionately. “You got it.”
“Can I bat first?”
“If it’s okay with your brother.”
Brendan rolled his eyes. “I’d rather pitch anyway.”
“That makes me the catcher.”
“I bet Lia would play outfielder. Do you think she would?”
Lia hated playing outfielder. But Conall laughed. “Never hurts to ask, does it?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SO FAR JEFF had continued to sleep in the attic, while Conall had taken over the small room with the childish twin bed. He came downstairs sometime between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m., whenever Henderson relieved him. The house would be completely silent, the boys’ and Sorrel’s bedroom doors closed, Lia’s open a few inches, presumably so she could hear a child in distress if need be. Some nights Conall found himself hesitating a few feet from her door, imagining that she was awake and watching for him.
Did she feel any of the frustration that wracked him? The hunger for a kiss, a taste? He wouldn’t say he avoided her daytimes; how could he? But unless it had to do with the kids, he wasn’t seeking her out, either, because he wanted her and he knew damn well he shouldn’t have her.
He wondered what she slept in. She presumably wore a gown or pajamas of some kind, because of the kids. Sexy? Probably not, he had thought wryly, and made himself keep going, first to the bathroom, then the twin bed where his feet would hang off the end.
But at least he had the privacy of his own room. He hoped Lia didn’t accept another foster child until he was gone.
Tonight there had been a modest stirring of activity next door. A car had come and gone, the driver alone. He’d gone into the house and stayed for a good hour. This guy wasn’t one of the two who’d brought the crates or any of the three who seemed to be living in the house. But his face, too, was familiar.
Conall was still thinking about it as he came downstairs and quietly closed the attic door. This familiar was different. He’d met the man from the pickup truck, had seen him move, speak. He knew it, even though he hadn’t been able to nail down when or where. The wondering stuck with him like an itch.
He was confident he’d recognized this new visitor only from a photo. Depending on the operation, he looked at a hell of a lot of images. Face recognition software would find a match, he was willing to bet. His preoccupation took him safely past Lia’s bedroom door.
Nights weren’t hot yet, except in the attic where the air remained stuffy. He’d have liked a shower, but the noise of it running might wake someone. Instead, after brushing his teeth he stripped off his shirt and stuck his head under the faucet, scrubbed his underarms and ran the wet washcloth over his chest and as much of his back as he could reach, then toweled himself dry.
This time his feet came to a stop in the hall, refusing to carry him on to his bedroom. He stared at that dark opening.
Did Lia sleep with her hair braided or loose? Because of the way he and Henderson had broken down their shifts, Conall had yet to see her first thing in the morning. He had the stupid thought that right now he’d be satisfied if he could only get a look at her. Find out whether she slept with abandon or curled into a defensive ball. Wore a long-sleeved, floor-length flannel gown or a T-shirt that ended at mid-thigh. But he knew damn well he was lying to himself. His fantasies would grow more vivid once he could picture her accurately in bed.
He rasped a hand over his jaw, sighed and prodded himself into motion…at the exact moment her door opened silently and she stepped into the hall. He stopped but not quite in time. Lia walked right into him.
She gave a startled gasp. Conall gripped her shoulders—almost bare, oh damn, they felt delicate—and said quietly, “Shh, it’s me, Lia. Conall.”
Her “Oh” came out in a shocked exhalation. “What are you doing…?”
He bent his head so his mouth wasn’t far from her ear. “On my way to bed.”
“Oh,” she whispered again.
His hands, all on their own, slid up and down her arms. Bare arms. He was gently kneading, arousal having slammed into him. He’d been halfway already, thinking about her. Now her hair was tickling his face. It was braided, but strands had slipped loose. The scent was tart, lemon or lime. He’d seen her shampoo in the shower, imagined her naked with the water pouring over her body and her arms raised as she washed her hair.
His hands cupped the balls of her shoulders. A shiver ran over her. Her collarbones were fragile, the skin unbelievably soft. Only a camisole with tiny straps kept him from sliding his hands down to cover her breasts. God, he wanted to strip it off her. She stood very still, as if paralyzed. He could hear her breathing, quick, hard pants. He nuzzled her cheek and murmured, “Lia.”
“What…what are you doing?”
“Touching you,” he whispered. On impulse he dropped his hands to hers and lifted them to his own chest. “Touch me,” he said, near soundlessly. She jerked, and he realized she hadn’t known in the dark that his torso was bare. He pressed her hands flat against his chest and almost groaned from the pleasure.
He removed his hands from hers. For an instant she didn’t move at all and he was afraid she would back away. Then she stroked him, almost shyly, a timid exploration that made a groan rumble in his throat.
He wrapped one of his hands around her nape, beneath that heavy braid. The other he slipped under her camisole to feel more of her soft skin. Her fingertips found his nipples and paused with interest, then skated upward as if she were discovering how his muscles lay. Once her fingers curled into his chest hair. He thought about the kneading of a small cat. His own hands had mostly stilled; he was frozen in wonder at the sensations she was awakening. Conall had never had a more sensual experience. He couldn’t make out her face, any more than she would be able to see his. The darkness was near complete with no windows opening into the hall. It was all touch, and the tiniest of sounds. The hitch of a breath, a whimper, another groan he couldn’t stop.
He wanted desperately to haul her against him, to shove his hips against hers. He wanted to rip that camisole off and feel her breasts against his bare chest. He wanted to find her mouth in the dark, swallow her small, helpless sounds, dig his fingers into the richness of her hair as he angled her head.
Instead, he stood completely still and experienced more pleasure than he’d had from a woman in…forever. It was torture, and it was exquisite.
She stroked his belly. The muscles tightened and quivered beneath her palm. She traced the line of hair to the open snap of his jeans, hesitated and then stopped.
Recoiling, she remained in place only by his hold. “No!” she whispered furiously. “I can’t.”
“Lia.” Now he bent his head and tried to find her mouth, but she evaded him, stiff, her entire body trying to pull away.
“Stop. Please stop.”
His brain was hazed by desire, but from force of will he let her go. She jumped back two feet and collided with the door frame. Her “Ow” was muffled.
He’d blown it. Upset her.
But she’d touched him, and damn it, she’d enjoyed it.
Conall realized with shock that he was shaking. There wasn’t anything he could do but say in a low voice, “I’m sorry. Good night, Lia,” and retreat.
She had hurried to the bathroom and closed the door behind her with a decisive click before he reached his bedroom.
Conall stripped and got into bed, then lay staring at the ceiling, his body ready to bury itself in hers, a hundred emotions he didn’t understand brushing against each other and rattling like a not very melodic wind chime.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY was Saturday. Lia took all three kids swimming. She didn’t wait until Conall appeared, having no desire to invite him. Not, she realized belatedly, that he likely would have come anyway, since he was trying not to be noticed.
They had fun, but she knew they would have had more fun if he’d been with them. Especially the boys, who’d latched onto him with a fervor that had taken her by surprise.
Conall MacLachlan was temporary, she brooded. She hated the fact that she had to keep reminding herself of that. Maybe she’d made a mistake encouraging him to spend time with Walker and Brendan. Yes, he’d been good for them—but what would happen when he and his partner packed up their equipment and went away, never to be seen again? The brothers’ mother had died, and now they’d let themselves care about someone else who wasn’t in it for the long haul. Did they understand that?
Lia didn’t even know why she was upset. No, mad. The boys were attached to her, too. Lots of the kids she took in got attached to her. She offered herself up to them, even though she knew she would be hurt later, when they left to go home. But this felt different, as though Conall shouldn’t be promising something he had never intended to give.
He said he’d spend time with them. That’s all he ever promised.
With words. That’s all he’d promised with words. But with smiles and affectionate touches and his amazing patience, he’d given them so much more than time. Didn’t he know what he was doing? she raged. He was being the father they’d never had. The father no other man would ever match.
Lia was astonished at the pain clutching her heart into a fist. Pain that wasn’t even hers.
Conscious of shock, she sat poolside and watched the two boys halfheartedly splashing each other.
Was she angry at Conall because she, too, wanted to believe he’d never go away? Was she that foolish?
She squeezed her eyes shut. Dear God, yes. Yes, I am.
Closing her eyes had been a mistake, because it cast her into an instant flashback. Dark hallway, realizing it was his body with which she’d collided. Those big, callused hands moving with such delicious care over her. It had been ages since anyone had really touched her, and no one ever had quite like that. Savoring instead of demanding. He wasn’t here now, but she could still smell him, soap and something muskier. Man. Aroused man. She’d known almost instantly that he was without ever feeling his erection.
But she’d wanted to. Oh, she’d wanted to.
Lia told herself surprise explained why she hadn’t stepped back immediately, excused herself and gone on to the bathroom. Why she’d stood there letting him grope her.
Surprise didn’t explain why she’d been unable to resist temptation when he’d pressed her hands to his hard, muscled chest. But how could she resist, after seeing him several times shirtless when he roughhoused with the boys, after watching him walk with that long, smooth, purely masculine stride? She hadn’t been able to stop herself from watching him, sometimes surreptitiously, drinking in every detail of his lean, strong body, the flash of gray eyes, the occasional lightning surprise of a laugh.
Lust. Only lust, she told herself desperately, and knew she was lying. Maybe if she’d never seen him with the boys, she wouldn’t have fallen in love, but she had.
And he would disappear from her life as completely as he would from Walker’s and Brendan’s, with as little warning.
It was all she could do to smile when one of the boys called out to her.
They arrived home to find Conall on the porch, talking on his cell phone. When she reached him, he said, “Let me call you back,” and slid the telephone closed. His gaze flicked over all of them. “You went swimming?”
“Yeah! Lia said we shouldn’t wake you up. And you probably wouldn’t go anyway,” Walker said. “But I wished you had.”
“She’s probably right, I couldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t be away from the house for long.”
“In case something happens.” Brendan nodded solemnly.
“Right.” He ruffled the boys’ hair and smiled at Sorrel. “Have fun?”
“It was okay.” She scuttled past, head down, and vanished into the house.
Conall looked after her with surprise Lia shared. Had Sorrel felt shy because she hadn’t put a top on over her bathing suit? She sometimes seemed so normal—interested in boys, insecure about her appeal, giggly. But Lia couldn’t forget that she was also a child who had been sexually abused by a man she should have been able to trust. She had a long road ahead of her before she could feel secure in a romantic relationship. If she ever would be able to. Conall was blatantly male. The real surprise was that Sorrel could ever relax with him.
“Lunchtime,” Lia told the boys. “Why don’t you go get changed?” When they’d gone in, she said, “Sorry if we interrupted your call.”
“You didn’t.” He hesitated. “Lia…”
“If this is about last night, don’t worry. Nothing happened.”
His dark eyebrows rose. “Nothing?”
“Nothing important,” she said firmly.
He absorbed that, his eyes flickering. “You know I’m attracted to you.”
“And I know it’s not a good idea to go anywhere with it. I have children in this house. It’s important that I set a good example for Sorrel especially.” S
he was pleased at how brisk she sounded. “Besides, I don’t do one-night stands, or two-week stands. My emotions have to be involved.”
Idiot that she was, Lia desperately wanted him to say, Don’t you feel anything for me? Because I do for you. Can’t we find out where it takes us?
Instead, muscles flexed in his jaw as he stared at her. After an appalling length of time, he nodded. “I hadn’t actually suggested anything like that.”
“But you would have, wouldn’t you?”
His face was particularly devoid of emotion. “Maybe.”
“Well, then.” She reached for the screen door handle.
“Wait.” Was that a thread of desperation in his voice?
Slowly she turned back.
“That was Niall on the phone. My brother?”
As if she wouldn’t remember. Lia nodded.
“He wants us all to get together again. He said Desmond really enjoyed the boys.”
“Are you asking for my permission to take them somewhere?” How should she feel about that?
“No.” He took a deep breath. “I’m actually wondering how you’d feel about having them all out here. I know that’s asking a lot of you, but I imagine Rowan and Jane would bring some of the food and you’ve got a good place for it.” He was talking faster than usual. “I thought it might be easier than packing up our crew again.”
Our crew? Her heart pinched. She wished he wouldn’t say things like that. It hurt.
“Wouldn’t that be kind of conspicuous? I thought you were trying to keep your presence quiet.”
A rueful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I’m spending half my time outside with the boys. If our neighbors have had any reason to come looking, they’ll have seen me already.”
She suddenly had the creeps. It was all she could do not to turn her head and stare at the woods separating her house from the neighbor’s. “What do you mean, come looking?”
“They haven’t,” he said quickly. “We’d have seen them. But they may have heard me talking to the boys. We get kind of noisy out here sometimes.” Seeing her expression, he added, “It’s okay, Lia. They have no reason to think I’m anything but a friend. Maybe a boyfriend. Why would that worry them?”
The Call of Bravery Page 12
