Atonement

by Winter Austin

  The lock clicked and the knob turned. Con dropped his hand and stepped back as the door cracked open.

  “It’s not the same,” Nic said hoarsely.

  “Did you ever think that if you’d paid better attention to the signs, you could have prevented it before it happened?”

  Her features wrinkled in confusion. He ached at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. How she must have grieved for what she’d kept buried. Hiding her PTSD must have taken a huge toll on her for her to have flashed back like she did yesterday. She needed to rest, take a break from this madness, and get the help everyone in her position needed to function.

  But if she hadn’t done it before, would she do it on his suggestion?

  “What are you doing, Con?”

  “I’m trying to be someone better than I was, Nic. I want to help you find a way out of that dark hole before it swallows you forever.”

  The door swung open wider, and she inched forward. “How do you propose to do that?”

  He held out his hand. “Trust me.”

  She stared at his offered hand. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Slowly, she lifted her hand and then gradually placed it in his.

  Con lightly grasped it and tugged her toward him. She tripped into his arms and sagged into his embrace. He felt her take a shuddering breath before she leaned into him more. Behind him, he heard Cassy sigh in unison with his internal one.

  Nic had taken the first step.

  From here on out, Con had to keep a supportive hold on her. Or he’d lose her forever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Priest lingered in his hidden position until the way was clear. He was astounded at how quickly the next sinner had presented himself. Yet, when he considered who it was, it shouldn’t have come as a shock. He had been the town gossip for years, stirring up trouble wherever he went. Worse than a woman, some of the old-timers were fond of saying. In fact, the gossip legacy was long, as the whole family had carried the same badge. The whole family was disliked by all, and yet the weak still turned a listening ear to their venom.

  What drew The Priest to him was his vicious lashing of Deputy Nicolette Rivers. Out of all the people calling for penalty on the female cop, his was the voice calling for blood.

  It was time to end it.

  This sinner would prove more difficult in confessing atonement. The Priest would need more contact and access to him. He had a few ploys in his arsenal that he’d yet to use.

  He meandered along the sidewalk, window-shopping at the quaint businesses that lined Eider’s town square. There was a strong sense of conservatism and piety in this town, on the outside. But the longer he lived here, the more he saw below the surface. He paused at the corner and watched the decorating committee hang the brightly colored autumn decorations for the Fall Festival.

  Tomorrow was the first day of the festival. Saturday, the festivities would kick off with a parade. Even with the rash of suicides, Eider would rally on with their plans. This was a time of economic surplus for the town; the mayor couldn’t well afford to cancel it over a few insignificant people.

  The Priest tilted his head as he observed a McIntire County Sheriff’s Department car roll past. He contemplated the things he’d heard over the last few days since Deputy Rivers pulled the trigger and ended Dusty Walker’s life. There was a story behind that woman, something that begged for his attention. In his experience, no woman was capable of being a lethal sniper without some emotional damage in her background.

  She had a sin she was covering up.

  He turned to observe the car parking in a spot next to the square. When the occupant exited, the Priest smiled. What better way to learn more about a potential target than to ply his trade on a willing participant.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Against her better judgment—who the hell was she kidding, she was too emotionally wrung out to fight it—Nic allowed Con to convince her to leave the house and join him at his mother’s pub. She tried to tell him it was a horrible idea, but he assured her with Cassy along, Nic would be fine.

  So far, he hadn’t been wrong.

  For some odd reason, Agent Hunt joined them, too. Despite Cassy’s snarls. Boyce, as he insisted they call him when they weren’t on duty, actually wasn’t that bad of a guy. And for Nic to admit that was saying a lot for a federal agent. She could see why her sister had fallen for him; his charm knew no bounds. He kept Nic in a good mood regaling them with stories of stupid criminals while they sat in a corner booth enjoying a wide array of delectable desserts Maura was thinking of selling during the Fall Festival.

  Con was in a strange mood—he’d fed the jukebox a continuous track of smooth jazz and easy-listening songs. In a town where country and pop was popular, it sounded weird, but Nic liked it. The music soothed her frazzled nerves and tense mind. She could forget she was surrounded by people she didn’t trust or who didn’t trust her in return.

  Sucking the thick, rich, chocolate fudge frosting off her fork tines, she blocked out Boyce’s voice and focused on Con moving behind the bar, filling drink orders. Like any good barkeep, he had a towel draped over his broad shoulder as he braced his hands on the counter and spoke with two of the Killdeer Pub’s regulars.

  That peek into his past had touched the vulnerable side of her that Nic had tried to keep on lockdown. Ugly, tempting thoughts of death and release were going through her head in those moments before Con arrived. She couldn’t explain why or how his was the first voice of reason that managed to cut through the turmoil going on inside her head, but she was grateful.

  Nic buried her fork in a two-inch-thick coconut cheesecake and pried off a bite. The moist, fudgy cake was great, but she was really loving this cheesecake Maura had perfected in the last week.

  “Hey, Nic.” Their server, Patrick, grinned and placed a glass in front of her. “Mr. Barkeep says you favor this particular kids’ drink.”

  Nic tipped the darkened glass to see the chocolate milk. “That I do, but I don’t recall telling him.” Her gaze slid to Cassy. “Ever.”

  Cassy shrugged and shoveled in a mouthful of cake.

  “Thanks, Patrick,” she said to him before he hurried off to one of his other tables. Nic lifted the glass and saluted Con waiting at the bar.

  A sexy smile appeared, making her stomach twist.

  She could still recall his scent and the feel of him wrapped around her. She craved the security he’d offered and wanted to be there in his arms again. Licking her lips, she lowered her gaze to the dessert spread before her.

  What was she thinking? She was a ticking time bomb. Getting involved with another man was out of the question. Con didn’t deserve to be saddled with a shattered woman on the edge of life. He’d offered assistance and trust to get her through the healing process and learning to handle her PTSD. That was as far as it would go.

  The General and Aiden had taught her a valuable lesson: the moment things got difficult, you couldn’t depend on men to support you.

  A cell rang, dragging her from her thoughts. Boyce glanced at his phone and excused himself. Cassy curled an arm around Nic’s shoulders and leaned closer.

  “Are you okay?”

  In an odd move on her part—it had been so long—Nic tipped her head until she touched Cassy’s and looked her in the eye. “For now.”

  “I meant what I said about Mom and me. We do love you. Don’t forget it.”

  Nic’s throat tightened. She soaked in what her sister had said, not wanting to break the moment by uttering something that potentially could be misunderstood. It was safer this way.

  Their sisterly moment was broken when Boyce returned. Cassy lifted her head from Nic’s but kept her arm on her shoulders.

  “Cassy, could I speak with you?” He nodded to the exit.

  Her sister didn’t question, merely frowned as she stood and followed Boyce out of the pub.

  Nic took a few more bites of the coconut cheesecake before Con joined her.

  “Where’s Secret
Agent Man going?”

  “Outside to have a conversation with Cassy. He’s probably going to attempt to seduce her, only to get punched in the groin.”

  Con grimaced at her blunt statement. “Not something you just blurt out to a guy.”

  Nic smiled around her cake-laden fork.

  “So, they were a … you know?”

  “I guess. Cassy was vague on the details, and I didn’t care to hear more than that.”

  The current song ended, and a brief bout of silence fell over the pub as the jukebox pulled up the next song in the queue. The first words and strains played, and Nic stiffened. Her hand with the fork fell to the table as the song picked up.

  “Something wrong?” Con asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  Nic rolled her eyes. “Could you be anymore cliché?”

  “Not really. But, seriously, does this song bring back bad memories or something?”

  It was the theme song to her all-time favorite movie, Dirty Dancing. In a way, it did have a connection to ideas and memories she wanted to forget, but there was a larger sum of good memories. The first time Nic watched it and fell in love with the movie was the year Emma came into her life, filling a void that had long been empty.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Con’s eyebrows lifted. “Isn’t everything with you complicated?”

  She couldn’t resist the laugh. God, it felt good.

  He stole her fork and ate some of the cheesecake. “Humor me and tell me what it is about this song that’s complicated.”

  “Do you know what movie the song is from?” she asked, stealing back her fork. The man was way too comfortable around her, treating her like they were a married couple.

  “Some chick flick. I think Farran loves it, and that’s why the track is on the jukebox.”

  “The movie is Dirty Dancing, and I love that ‘chick flick,’ as you put it.”

  Con stared at her like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. She didn’t blame him for being skeptical. From the moment they met, Nic hadn’t exactly portrayed herself as a feminine woman. Chalk one up to The General for turning his eldest daughter into an extreme tomboy.

  “Hard to believe, I know,” she said. “There was a lot about the movie that got to me, and I would watch that thing every night. When my stepmother came into my life, she’d make popcorn and chocolate malts for the both of us then we’d watch it together.”

  “Whoa, did you just reveal something from your past?”

  “Guess I did.”

  She fiddled with a napkin, letting those memories wash over her. Emma had anchored her in a time when a young Nic was in serious limbo. While she never made any attempt to replace Nic’s mother, Emma became the family Nic was missing. Especially after Cassy was born a year later.

  “So, what was it about this movie that made you want to watch it every night?” Con asked.

  Nic pressed her back into the booth seat, doubt about telling him the truth holding her tongue. They stared at each other until she broke eye contact. What would it hurt to tell him? After all, he’d revealed a dark secret about his family.

  “I wanted The General to be like Baby’s dad.”

  There, it was out. Her confession hung between them.

  “The General would be your da’?”

  “If one could call him that. He acts more like the sperm donor.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  Nic sniffed. “Actually, it’s the nicest thing I can say. You should meet the man. Better yet, don’t.”

  Con’s hand started to slide across the table, but then he hesitated. Snatching it back, he sighed and stood. “I better get back to my duties or my mam will have to nag at me.” He flashed a humorless grin and vacated the area.

  With each step he took away from her, Nic’s muscles uncoiled. She’d been prepared for his touch, his comfort, ached for it, in fact. His withdrawal cut deep. As he returned to his position behind the bar, Nic forced the pain into the mental box labeled “things men do that hurt me.” She couldn’t let herself care about what a man thought of her or her past.

  Her view was obstructed when Cassy returned, sliding into the seat across from Nic. “I swear that man’s ego is the only thing keeping him upright.”

  Dredging up her lagging good humor, Nic slipped on the mask. “Is our intrepid Agent Boyce Hunt acting like a knuckle-dragger?”

  “Worse.” Cassy stabbed her fork into the cake. “If he thinks he can just pick up where he left off, he’s got another think coming. At the end of my arm.”

  “Where did he go? Or did you make good on your death threat?”

  “He said something about needing to check in with the main office and then finding a place to sleep.” Cassy buried her face in her hands with a groan. “He’s like a reoccurring infection. The minute you think you’ve cured it, it comes back.”

  Nic snorted at her sister’s analogy, nearly choking on her drink. Cassy dropped her hands at the chortle and gaped at Nic.

  “Did I just hear you attempt to laugh?”

  “Second time tonight.”

  A smile brightened her sister’s face. “I never thought I’d hear it again.”

  Come to think of it, Nic couldn’t remember the last time she laughed. For the longest time there hadn’t been anything to laugh about. If she dug deep enough, she could recall moments she laughed with Aiden. He’d been one to crack her defenses and engage her humor. It was one of the perks that drew her to him, and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes.

  Nic sobered. She and Aiden had been through a lot together, most of it hellish. If she’d truly loved him, she didn’t know. The words were never uttered between them. If Aiden had loved her, it was a secret he took to the grave with him.

  “Am I ever going to get the whole story?” Cassy asked.

  Pursing her lips, Nic shook her head.

  “You won’t tell me, or you can’t tell me?”

  “Both.”

  A shadow caught Nic’s attention just as their booth was invaded. Patrick slapped the edge of the table and indicated for Nic to move over. She obliged as the younger man slid into the seat next to her.

  “Break time,” he chirped.

  “And we’re your entertainment?” Nic asked.

  He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. Trying to fight Patrick’s charisma was futile, because he had a personality that didn’t leave any room to say no.

  His gaze flicked to Cassy. Nic got the sensation that he was drinking in every inch of her sister. Patrick was young, but he wasn’t that much younger than her sister.

  “So, Ms. Rivers Number Two, what is it that you do for a living?”

  With a grin, Nic made herself comfortable and listened to the two banter. Occasionally, her attention slid to the bar and the Irishman standing behind it. Now that Con had offered her a lifeline and weaseled his way into her life, what was she going to do with him? For a good chunk of her life Nic had pushed men away, locked them out of her heart and soul. She was battered and scarred and tired of trying to live up to unattainable expectations. From the moment they met, Con had pushed, but not like The General had, or Aiden. How had Con managed to wiggle past her defenses? Maybe it happened that day at Seth Moore’s farm, or when Con took a leap of faith at Giselle Tomberlin’s home and trusted Nic’s instincts. Whenever it happened, she was certain of one thing. She must tread carefully, because she was a landmine field. Anyone who got close to her would end up in one of two situations: alienated or dead.

  • • •

  Con convinced Cassy to leave Nic at the pub when she went back to the house. After Mam closed up the pub, she took Farran home, leaving his sister’s SUV behind for his use. Con, with Patrick’s assistance, took over final clean-up detail while Nic nursed her last ginger ale.

  They hadn’t been able to finish their conversation, and he was hoping to probe a bit more into her life.

  Right on cue, the first song he’d queued on the jukebox played, “She’s L
ike The Wind,” another song from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. His gaze slid to Nic to catch her scrunched face. Grinning, he placed the last glass in the drying rack and then draped the towel over his shoulder as he moved closer to her.

  “Did you purposely set this up?” she asked.

  “Premeditated all the way.” He took her empty glass to the sink. “I figured a moment of a few good memories was a better way to end the night than dwelling on the terrible ones.”

  Nic left her stool and joined him at the end of the bar. Arms and elbows braced on the top, she leaned forward, clasping her hands. “Somehow I get the impression you have more self-seeking motives than that.”

  His arms spread to their full length, Con gripped the edge of the bar and peered down at her. “Is that such a bad thing?”

  Nic rocked back, staring at him, like she didn’t know what to say or do.

  The kitchen door squeaked open, breaking their connection. Patrick strolled into the dining room, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He paused and grinned. “Finished in the kitchen. You want to lock up, or do you need me to?”

  Con waved the kid off. “I’ll get it. Head upstairs and get some sleep. Got a big day tomorrow.” The Fall Festival committee was meeting at the Killdeer Pub to finalize last-minute plans for the weekend.

  Patrick’s gaze lingered on Nic before he gave a curt nod and headed for the back of the pub to the staircase to the apartment. A moment of weirdness went through Con at the young man’s odd look, but he banished it quickly and turned his focus back on Nic. If they stayed longer than intended, it wouldn’t bother Patrick’s sleep. Mam had soundproofed the apartment to attract potential renters when she took over.

  Sighing, Nic backed away from the bar. “Are you done, too?”

  Con drained the soapy water and wiped down the counter. “Not quite.”

  “What more is there to do?”