Atonement

by Winter Austin

  He glanced up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, later.” She jogged to her Jeep.

  She slammed the door and hesitated before turning over the engine. No more slip-ups. One more and she could kiss this job good-bye, too.

  The Jeep purred to life; she shifted into gear and spewed gravel. Once on the pavement she shifted into a higher gear.

  All day, she’d managed to keep a hold on her sanity. All day, she’d buried the images that haunted her. The threads unraveled one at a time. Seth Moore’s suicide brought it forward—the stench, the horror, and the hysterical weeping.

  Nic’s knuckles paled as the steering wheel leather squeaked under her grip. The differences between the two incidents were not lost on her. But she had a personal stake in the first.

  Her chin trembled. Nic shook her head hard. No, she wouldn’t succumb to her weakness. He made the wrong choice. He’d been weaker. She wasn’t.

  Nic tilted her chin higher and sighed. The alcohol had to go. She’d empty the house of the liquor and think about getting rid of the pills. Suicide wasn’t the way out of this.

  Her driveway loomed. The headlights slashed through the building gloom, revealing the bent and shuddering trees. The Jeep tires rumbled over the bridge’s wood slats. Hopefully the storm wouldn’t dredge up a mess and block the bridge.

  Sucking in deep breaths, she managed to strap down her emotions. Color flooded into her hands. She had a good plan in place. As long as she stuck to it, she’d be fine.

  The Jeep rounded the curve, and the headlights landed on a familiar silver sedan parked in the drive.

  “Ah, hell no.”

  Chapter Six

  “How the hell did you find me?” The windows rattled as Nic banged open the front door. The inclement weather outside was nothing compared to the storm raging in her body.

  She had done everything possible to keep her family from locating her, except change her name or wipe herself from existence. Even with The General’s connections, she’d managed to keep him in the dark, thanks to a few people in certain government positions who still liked her. Nic went so far as to make all of her purchases in cash only. So, how had her baby sister done what the old man couldn’t?

  Nic marched into the kitchen and came to a halt at the sight of Cassy standing behind the island counter.

  Her sister lifted her chin a fraction; those piercing, crystal-blue eyes bored holes into Nic. “Nice to see you, too, sis.”

  A black object next to Cassy’s hand caught Nic’s attention. The Ruger gleamed under the island lights. Cassy wasn’t taking any chances of a repeat performance from the last time the sisters were unexpectedly thrown together.

  Eyes narrowed, Nic crossed the floor. “You didn’t answer me. How did you find me?”

  “You’re not the only one with connections.”

  “The hell you say! If you located me that easily, then he can, too.”

  Slowly, Cassy placed her hands on the edge of the counter. Nic tensed, bracing herself for a quick draw. When they were younger, they’d spent a lot of time watching old Westerns and pretending to be gunfighters. While Nic was taking down terrorists and insurgents with her sniper rifle, Cassy had gone into law enforcement. Nic didn’t want to find out who was the better shot.

  “Right now, I’m all that stands between your location remaining secret and Pop finding you.”

  “Not buying it. You were his favorite. Like hell he’d let you just disappear.”

  Cassy shook her blonde head. “I never disappeared. He knew exactly where I was living. I didn’t let on how close I was to you. Having one daughter off the radar was enough.”

  “It should have stayed that way.” How long did Nic have before The General pulled strings to locate Cassy? Two, maybe three days? He wouldn’t be out of contact with her long.

  “He won’t find you. I took precautions.”

  Nic caught her sister’s meaning. Emma, her stepmother, Cassy’s mother, was onto what Cassy was doing and probably had The General under constant surveillance to ensure he didn’t break his word.

  “How’d you get in here? This place is always locked up.”

  The corner of Cassy’s mouth twitched in what could be the hint of a smile. “Picked the lock.”

  Nic bit back a curse. One of those vices she’d taught Cassy that came back to bite her in the ass. Stepping aside, she pointed at the door. “Go home.”

  Sighing, Cassy’s shoulders drooped. “No.” A flame flickered in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, and this time you won’t run me off at gunpoint.” Her fingers rested on the butt of the Ruger. “Don’t force my hand.”

  Li’l sister’s backbone had thickened. Hard lines dragged on Cassy’s features. Those hadn’t been there the last time Nic saw her. Suddenly, the aroma of peppers, cumin, and tomatoes crashed into Nic’s senses. Her anger seeped out of her veins, and her arm dropped.

  “Since when did you learn how to cook?”

  Her sister lifted one shoulder. “People change. Some for the better.”

  Point driven home. She wasn’t going to get rid of her sister anytime soon. Time to retreat and figure out a new strategy.

  Nic huffed and stalked to her bedroom. She shed her jacket and uniform, leaving them on the floor where they dropped. Dragging open the middle drawer of her dresser, she froze. The neatly rolled and arranged T-shirts were askew. She rummaged through the stack, and her fingers didn’t bump the sidearm she’d hidden under the shirts.

  “Damn it!” She slammed the drawer closed and ran out of the room. “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” The mild expression on Cassy’s face stirred Nic’s hornets’ nest into a frenzy.

  “My gun. I had one in—you found them. All of them.”

  “Ten? Why would a cop need ten guns in her home?”

  Swallowing the acidic words that wanted to explode from her mouth, Nic balled her hands at her sides and glared at Cassy. Her chest heaved. “Where are they?”

  Bent over the open oven door, Cassy reached inside. “Safely tucked out of your sight.” She slid out the glass baking dish. “When I leave I’ll tell you where they are.” The baking dish clattered on the range top. “After I’ve left the state.”

  A nasty name tickled Nic’s tongue. No, she wouldn’t let Cassy bait her anymore. It would prove what Cassy suspected and bring a heap of trouble on Nic.

  Aluminum foil crinkled as Cassy pulled it back, and steam rolled off the enchiladas. “Get some clothes on, sis. I don’t want to see you in your skivvies while I eat.”

  Nic glared at her sister. “Then leave.”

  Cassy tossed the potholders onto the counter, braced against it, and smiled blandly. “No.”

  Silence suffocated the room as they stared each other down. Once more, the uncontrollable urge to rail at her sister slithered from the back of Nic’s brain. And once again, she repressed it. Banging her fist into the wall, she pivoted and marched back to her bedroom.

  The coincidence of Cassy showing up here, the day after Nic killed a man, was not lost on her. If her sister lived close enough, she might have seen the news reports on TV. Or …

  Someone knew about Cassy and told her. That thought didn’t settle well with Nic. Only two men could be responsible, and both of them were privy to too much sensitive information about her. One because he was her boss. The other because she got drunk off her ass last night and might have babbled.

  Eventually, the truth would come out on whoever alerted Cassy.

  And Nic would pound ’em.

  • • •

  The moment Con knocked off from his shift, he headed home to let Cadno have a run in the fenced-in backyard before the storm hit, then fed him. After that, Con went straight for his mam’s pub and grill. He was in serious need of a good, extra stout Guinness and some of his sister’s cooking. Seth Moore’s apparent suicide, Nic Rivers’s unstable mindset, and yesterday’s murder/death fallout had all combined to give him the much-needed exc
use to visit his mam. And have a few beers.

  When there was a break in the rain, he ran for the building. Passing through the heavy wood doors with their original stained glass windows, Con entered the oddly cheerful atmosphere of Killdeer Pub. The place didn’t hold to the normal conventions of depression and darkness to promote longer stays and more drinking. It was open, bright, and airy, much like his mam. And the name of the pub was something of a running joke among his family. Maura O’Hanlon got a kick out of seeing those peculiar birds called killdeer run around, trying to lead any potential threat away from their nests. Their irritating calls amused her to the point she named her business after the batty birds.

  Or so she told everyone who came through those doors. Con knew otherwise. For a bird that wanted to keep people away from its nest, the pub never drove people away; they flocked to it.

  The tantalizing aroma of seared beef beckoned him to the kitchen. A few early patrons called out, and he waved at them. Slipping behind the bar, he grabbed a bottle of Guinness, popped the cap, and took a drag on the beer. The kitchen door swung open, nearly smacking him. He backpedaled out of the way as the newest addition to Killdeer’s staff backed out of the kitchen, his arms laden with trays.

  Patrick Keegan winced when he caught sight of Con. “Sorry, didn’t see you there, Mr. O’Hanlon.”

  Con grinned. “You’re fine, m’boy. I know better than to barge in without checking.” He stepped aside to let Patrick pass. “You liking it here?”

  The twenty-five-year-old beamed. “Love it. Can’t thank your mom enough for hiring me.” He hurried out to the dining room floor to deliver his load.

  Fresh out of college, Patrick had showed up in Eider driving a beat-up Ford and parked in the Killdeer Pub lot, where his truck promptly died for good. Defeated, he dragged into the pub, ordered a coffee, and proceeded to nurse it for three hours. Maura took pity on the kid and offered him a job and a place to stay until he could get back on his feet. She had a soft spot for anyone of Irish descent, and Patrick fit the bill.

  The kid lived in the apartment above the pub that Con’s sister, Farran, had been using for storage. He worked every day in the pub, except Sunday when he took off for some “alone” time, as he called it.

  A slap on Con’s shoulder startled him. He jerked around.

  “Don’t just stand there. Help,” Farran barked and thrust a tall soda-pop canister in his direction.

  Quickly setting down his beer, Con caught the canister and rolled the heavy thing to an open spot under the counter. Once he got it hooked up to the fountain hoses, he reclaimed his bottle and leaned on the bar while Farran finished connecting her container.

  “What’s the special for tonight?”

  She straightened, wiping her hands on a bar towel. “Bacon burger with a spicy cheese sauce and cheesy fries with bits of bacon. Or you can have what you always eat, steak with a loaded spud and carrots and parsnips.”

  “Special sounds good. I need me something greasy and artery-clogging.”

  She swatted his backside with the towel as she passed. “I don’t make food that clogs the arteries.”

  “Ha!” Con followed her into the kitchen. “It’s still greasy.”

  “Can’t argue that.” Farran coiled her brown hair into a loose bun then positioned herself at the grill to slap a thick patty onto the flat griddle. The meat sizzled and steamed. “You don’t normally come in during the middle of the week.”

  “It’s been a hell of a week so far.” Con finished the Guinness and tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin next to the exit door. “Haven’t you watched the news?”

  “Don’t have time.” Farran flipped the patty. “Though I heard something about a police-involved shooting yesterday on the radio. That wasn’t you, was it?”

  “Sheriff’s department actually, but I was brought in.”

  “Con, did you leave Cadno cooped up in your house?” At the thick, female Irish brogue, he turned in time to receive a kiss to his cheek.

  “Nay, Mam. He got a good run of the yard before it started storming.”

  Maura O’Hanlon pinched his cheek then gave it a light slap. “I still t’ink he should come stay with me.”

  Con rolled his eyes. His mam would spoil that dog rotten, and Cadno wasn’t used to pampering. The former military working dog responded better to men. He’d gone through two tours in Iraq with one handler until the man was killed by an insurgent’s bullet. After a year, Cadno had been reassigned to a new handler, and together they served two tours in Afghanistan. Then the U.S. Army decided to retire Cadno and put him up for adoption, while his second handler moved on to a new MWD.

  Through a stroke of luck and a strong interest, Con managed to be paired with Cadno. The rest, as they say, was history.

  “Mam, he wouldn’t listen to you even if you were covered in bloody steaks.”

  “T’at’s because he’s a male.” Mam gathered a stack of pre-wrapped silverware. “Could you take a look at the light fixture in the men’s restroom? It’s been flickering off at odd times.”

  “I’ll check it now.”

  With a nod of her head, Mam disappeared through the main room door. Con was about to follow when a hand on his arm made him pause.

  Concern etched Farran’s smooth features. The weariness that lined her hazel eyes belonged to someone much older in age than his sister’s twenty-six years. She should have been enjoying herself at college or trekking all over some far-off country with friends to find her place in the world. Instead, she remained in Eider with Mam to run Killdeer and continue creating her unusual pottery that sold well every summer and fall during the craft festivals the surrounding villages and towns held.

  “Con, something is eating Mam. She won’t talk about it.”

  The tension that had been locked into his muscles from the moment he got off of Nic’s sofa this morning tightened painfully. Farran spent most of her day around their mother, and she could read her well.

  “What day is it?”

  Farran ticked something off on her fingers then her face paled. “September twenty-eighth.”

  They had both forgotten. So many years had passed, and they had new lives. It made it easy, but not for Maura.

  “Seamus’s birthday.” Their oldest brother who was killed, along with their father, in a bombing in Ireland when they were younger. Con swallowed. “Best keep her busy tonight.”

  “That’s easy while the pub is open. What do we do after we’ve closed up? Memories are worst in the dark.”

  Perhaps he should think of letting Cadno stay with his mam for tonight. The dog had an uncanny sense of compassion when there was need for it. Last night’s incident with Nic Rivers proved that much.

  “I’ll worry about that when the time comes.” He gripped Farran’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’ve had enough years of learning how to deal with these days. One day it won’t stop her like it does now.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Farran gave him a weak smile and then returned to her station at the grill. “If you’re checking on that light, you better hurry. Food’s almost ready.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll take it in the dining room.”

  “Patrick will bring it out.”

  Con shoved through the door and made a beeline for the restrooms at the back of the pub. Before tackling his duties as the man of the family, he fed the jukebox a few quarters and punched in several different song selections. The first song—one of his favorites by Nickelback—piped through the sound system. Tonight he needed to keep a flow of upbeat songs for Mam’s sake. For his sanity.

  Hell, for everyone’s sakes.

  Tragedy two days in a row for this little town was two too many. Tonight would be about the living.

  • • •

  The lid on Nic’s temper blew. She couldn’t stomach the evasive answers and thick silence. Whatever Cassy had plotted would not be sprung on her like a surprise party. Nic abandoned the meal halfway through and took off in her truck, heading for
town in a downpour.

  Engaging her ingrained training, Nic let her mind go numb as she drove. The music blaring from the radio, along with the steady thrum of rain and the wipers against the windshield, created the white noise she desperately sought. Anything to keep her from thinking or feeling.

  When she turned her truck into the Killdeer Pub parking lot, the blank veil fell from Nic’s consciousness. She parked at the end of the long line of vehicles and cut the engine. With her hands gripping the top of the steering wheel, she settled her chin on her knuckles and stared at the brightly lit building. Fat drops smeared the windshield, turning red and blue with the lights from the Killdeer’s neon sign.

  Why am I here?

  O’Hanlon’s family owned this place. Many of Eider’s residents visited the pub for Farran O’Hanlon’s cooking. If Nic passed through those doors, she was certain she’d be accosted for her part in Dusty Walker’s death.

  She should start the truck and back out of here. Go somewhere else. Or back home.

  She sniffed. Going home with Cassy there was out of the question. Where else could she go? The only other decent eating place in Eider—the diner—was closed for the night. And she didn’t dare set foot in one of the handful of bars in this town. What the hell. She would have to face these fools and their prejudices at some point. Might as well get it over with.

  Palming the keys, she bailed from the truck cab, slapping the door lock, and ran through the curtain of rain, not bothering to miss the puddles. Nic paused under the awning to shake the water from her jacket and her hair, then pushed inside the pub. The bass-heavy sounds blasted her. For a pub owned by an Irish family, rock music pumping through the speakers was odd.

  Nic scanned the well-lit interior. “Shit,” she said under her breath.

  Just her luck that tonight the place would be full. All the seats that kept her back to a wall were taken. There were a few open spots at the bar, but her muscles seized at the thought of having all those eyes glaring at her backside. Her choices were to take a position at the bar and use the mirror behind the liquor racks to keep an eye on the floor or sit with her back against the bar.