Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1)

by P. J. O'Dwyer

  "Shouldn't that be attached to a lamp?" She smiled at her humor, but he didn't.

  "How about this end?" He held it out. Two metal clips swung with angry teeth, and her brain scattered. But fragments, sharp and uncomfortable, thrust themselves into her memory. The ugly truth of who Jeremy was and what he had done took hold of her sanity and shook her without mercy.

  Bren's hands fisted. Don't let him know you know. She let her fingers unfurl slowly.

  "You use those to hold up your pants?"

  This time his mouth quirked. "Pants?"

  "They're suspenders, right?"

  He laughed and did his best to hug her, catching her by surprise.

  His chest rumbled against hers. "I love you so damn much." But his laughter changed to drawn-out breaths, and she realized he was crying, again. Wet, warm tears rolled onto her neck. "It's fast. You won't feel a thing. I promise. You'll go off to sleep."

  Fear, sudden and suffocating, like the weight of his body, stole her breath. "Get off me." She squirmed beneath him. "You bastard. Stop crying."

  He moved off her, his face rosy with emotion and wet with tears. "Bren, I'm sorry." He placed a small silver tray on her stomach. He grabbed the needle from the tray.

  "No!" She struggled, the straps only giving incrementally. Tears pinched her eyes and ran down her cheeks. The needle glittered above.

  You'll go off to sleep.

  "Jeremy!" she cried out. "I don't want to die." Her heartbeat gave witness—quick and clipped, it beat faster.

  "I never meant to hurt you. I didn't." He wiped his face with his arm and bent over her.

  "You have, Jeremy." She needed to keep him talking. Jeremy still existed. She needed to reach him. "Look at me."

  "I can't." His body shook, and he sobbed.

  "You will, damn it. Look at my face. If you're going to do this, then I want you to watch the light go out of my eyes. Remember it when you're lying to my boys." Her nose ran, and her face warmed like a fresh sunburn on her cheeks.

  His eyes connected with hers, and for a brief moment she saw surrender, but then he looked away.

  Her temples thumped. She would be dead soon. She couldn't stop him. There was no one to stop him. He'd dispose of her body, lie like nobody's business, and everyone would continue to believe Robert Connelly had killed Tom.

  They'd search for her body, but they'd never find it. Jeremy had connections to crematories with incinerators. He'd find a way to turn her to ash, once he pulled himself from his self-indulgent tears.

  All this time, Tom's killer had moved within a circle of those she trusted and loved. He wasn't an enemy, as she'd originally thought. She knew him—loved him. She'd never suspected he had the capacity to deceive or to murder without conscience. He said he had one. But the bastard had walked away from Tom, leaving him to struggle to remain of this earth.

  Tom hadn't, and that made Jeremy a murderer.

  Jeremy held her arm down.

  She drew in a sharp breath.

  His fingers were strong and pressed hard into her flesh. "Relax, Bren. I want you to go easy."

  "Then you should have put a bullet in my head."

  "I'm not laughing."

  "I'm not joking."

  He put the syringe between his teeth and took a piece of cotton from the tray. He swabbed her arm. Heart pounding, chest heaving, the simple prep brought death closer—colder.

  It's fast.

  She didn't want fast. She wanted to grow old with Rafe, see her boys grow up.

  Jeremy frowned down at her. "I'm so sorry," he cried, his lips wet with tears.

  Yet, if he truly felt remorse, loved her like he claimed, it didn't deter him. He raised the needle. The tip glinted sharp and deadly. He touched the slender metal needle against her forearm, and she gasped with the impending sting. "Ah, Bren. I never meant to torture you this way." He sighed. "It'll be over soon. I promise."

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Inaction twisted Rafe's gut. Bendix had sent a patrol car to meet them, but the only vehicle in the clinic parking lot was Bren's truck parked in front. Rafe cut his lights and parked at the far end of the parking lot. She was in there, and every second of indecision on his part could mean a bad return on his life investment—one five-foot-six Irish redhead he couldn't live without.

  "The hell with it." Rafe opened the door and glanced back at Jo. "Tell them I went ahead."

  "Wait." Jo grabbed his arm. Her eyes, distressed and a little uncertain, locked into his. "I don't know what he's capable of." She grabbed her gun from its holster. "Take it. From what Bren told me, you know how to use it."

  Rafe hesitated. Jeremy was Jo's husband. She loved him. But a gun was a great equalizer. Whatever he was about to walk into, it could make the difference between walking away with his girl or not.

  He took it and squeezed her shoulder. "I don't plan on letting it get that far."

  Tears in her eyes, she nodded, and Rafe stepped from the truck, sprinting toward the clinic. He shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans. He didn't want to have to use it, but it was insurance.

  He tried the door first—locked—then he kicked it in with his boot. The wooden door thumped and splintered from the doorframe. He muscled it the rest of the way with his shoulder. "Bren!"

  "Rafe!" she called to him, her voice strained and coming down the hall.

  He headed that way. Light flooded the dark hallway, and he swung into the doorway and froze. Son of a bitch.

  Jeremy stood over Bren. She was strapped to an examining table, the vet holding something above her.

  Bren's eyes met Rafe's, hers were rough and tormented.

  Every muscle in Rafe's body tensed. "God, Bren." He exhaled her name. His hands, usually steady and sure, trembled slightly, and his fingers tightened on the doorframe. "Let her up." His voice snapped like a whip. He pushed off the frame, his target Jeremy.

  "Rafe, stop! God, stop!" she shrieked. "He's got a needle." Tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

  Cold fear wound itself tight as a coil inside his brain.

  Jeremy straightened. "I'll kill her if you come any closer, Rafe." With an unstable voice, eyes glassy with tears, he held up the needle.

  Rafe slowed. Jo's gun pressed into his back, and he stopped. Mindful of the needle and the distance, he didn't go for the gun.

  Shit! He caught the gentle thump, thump, thump of Jo's cane. He should have known she'd come behind him. It grew louder—the effect, more a culmination of an end. Rafe wondered whose end it would be.

  "Jo's behind me. Damn it." He scowled at Jeremy. "She's been with me all night trying to save your ass. She knows. I know. Killing Bren isn't going to make this go away. The FBI's been working this case for months. They're on to you."

  A siren wailed, red and blue lights bounced off the clinic walls, backing up his words, and Rafe relaxed a fraction.

  Bren managed to touch Jeremy's leg with her fingers. "Don't let her see you like this."

  Fear and uncertainty lined Jeremy's face. The usual smiling eyes Rafe associated with the vet looked desperate. Jeremy glanced down at Bren and then the door, but kept the needle aimed at Bren's arm.

  "Jeremy." Bren snagged his pant leg and tugged.

  His head jerked down toward her. He was breathing heavy. "I don't deserve her." Silent tears rolled down his cheeks.

  The thumping stopped.

  Bren drew in a sharp breath. "Jo."

  "I'm okay, Bren." Jo leaned heavily on her cane in the doorway.

  If hearts could break, Rafe's broke for Jo. Busted up with a bandage on her head, dark circles ringing her eyes, she took a step forward and concentrated on her husband.

  "I love you."

  "Jo, don't." Jeremy's voice faltered.

  "You trust me?" She took another step and leaned on her cane for support.

  "I've hurt you."

  "You're hurting, too, baby. Just put the needle down."

  Jeremy stepped back. "I don't want to go to prison, Jo."


  Heavy footsteps came from the hall. Jeremy's eyes darted to the doorway. "It's okay, baby." She moved closer. "You don't want to hurt anyone."

  He dropped onto the stool. His hand, holding the needle, fell to his lap. "I need help, Jo."

  "I know, baby."

  Jo stood in front of Bren, her body using the table for support. She touched Bren's shoulder and began to work the straps free, never taking her eyes from Jeremy. "Put the needle down on the counter."

  He gnawed on his lower lip, idly spinning the seat back and forth.

  The last of the straps lay loose about Bren's body. Bren gave Rafe a measured look. He shook his head a definite no. The fragility of Jeremy's mind warned that any sudden movements could counter Jo's negotiations, and Bren could pay with her life.

  "Jesus." Kevin and several men wearing suits spilled into the room.

  Jeremy's head shot up. His stricken expression made the hairs on Rafe's neck spike with warning.

  Jeremy's armed jerked suddenly.

  "No!" Jo screamed and reached across the table.

  Rafe's eyes went right to Bren.

  Bren glanced sideways at Jeremy, right as he jammed the needle into his arm and pushed the syringe. She hopped off the table and came around. "Damn it, Jeremy. What did you do?"

  He slumped against Bren and slid off the stool, his weight taking her with him. Kevin and his men rushed forward, and Jo struggled to get around the table, collapsing next to them.

  "What was in it?" Jo shook him. "Jeremy, answer me." Then she grabbed his arm. "God. He hit an artery."

  Jeremy reached for her hand, his grip weakening as his body relaxed.

  Rafe came up behind Bren and crouched down beside her. He stroked her back. Damn but he wanted to burn with vengeance. Jeremy had killed Tom. He wanted to kill Bren. Jeremy was getting what he deserved—but it wasn't as neat as all that. And the irony was, he'd liked the guy.

  Jeremy's breathing became shallow, and Bren concentrated on his eyes. Conscious, his blue eyes seemed to be taking in Bren and his wife, but then they stilled.

  "He's dead," Bren cried softly, trembling. "He said it would be fast." She glanced back at Rafe, and her eyes flashed with understanding. "My God."

  Rafe's blood slugged through his veins. He couldn't move—it could have been Bren.

  Bren pushed up against Rafe frantically, trying to stand.

  He pulled her out from under Jeremy's body and turned her into him. She glanced back to Jo weeping on the floor, holding Jeremy to her. Bren reached for Jo, her hand only brushing the air when Rafe scooped her up in his arms.

  "Jo-o," was all she could manage, her chest battered by short, labored breaths.

  "I got her," Kevin said, and he motioned for Rafe to go.

  Bren buried her face into his chest and clung to him.

  "It's over, darlin'," Rafe soothed and angled his body through the doorway when a hand shot out.

  "We need her statement." The hand was connected to a man—dark suit, penetrating eyes, and a crew cut. FBI.

  And Rafe didn't give a damn. "Get it tomorrow." Rafe's eyes flashed, and his chest constricted. "I'm taking her home."

  Kevin stood up and moved toward them. "He's right. I'll make sure you get it in the morning."

  The agent nodded and let go. Stepping back, he allowed Rafe to continue down the hall.

  Rafe carried her out the door. The night air, crisp and alive, ran over his skin. It caught a dark, red wisp of Bren's hair and brushed his cheek.

  He cleared the police tape the deputies had strung around the entrance. The squawk of police radios faded the farther he walked toward his truck. He opened the driver's side door and sat her down on the seat. Crouching in front of her, his arms slid to her waist. "Is that you shaking or me?" His fingers slipped under her sweater and pressed lightly into her warm skin.

  "It's you." Her eyes were moist under the interior light, but her tears had stopped. She smoothed her hands along his shoulders and down the length of his arms. "You're trembling."

  "Hell, I'm not surprised." His hand came up and tilted her head back, probing her face. "He hurt you?"

  She bit down on her lip. "He would have, if you didn't come for me."

  "Was there any doubt that I would, darlin'?" He searched her eyes. Familiar and lovely, and staring back at him, they were the only pair he wanted to wake up to—and to think he'd almost lost that chance, again.

  He cupped her chin and ran his thumb over her quivering lips. "Is there anything else I should know, Red? Any more adventures you want to take me on? Because my heart is just about wore out."

  Her lips quirked.

  Color began to creep into her cheeks. "Not up for the challenge, cowboy?"

  "Nope. The way I see it, that makes it impossible for me to leave you to your own devices." He wasn't waiting another minute. It wasn't how he'd pictured it—lights and sirens, loss and heartache, and yellow crime scene tape—the two of them smarting with grief.

  But that damn black velvet box kept nudging his side. It remained in the pocket of his jacket. She'd probably knock him in the head for being insensitive. He'd had it all planned out—flowers, the works. She was his girl, and he wanted it to be special. But he couldn't take another minute without some assurances she'd be his.

  He'd never been so nervous in his life. He was back to shaking with it—nerves.

  "I'm not one for convention, Bren. I love you with all I have in me." He dropped to one knee and edged her forward. "I told you when I met you, family wasn't something I was looking for. That couldn't be further from the truth now. That's all I've been thinking about tonight. Not knowing where you were, what he was doing to you."

  "Rafe." She glanced around. "Baby, get up off the ground."

  "Bren, honey, let me do this proper. We had this thing all planned out."

  "We?" She gave him a curious look.

  "The old man—"

  She arched a well-shaped brow.

  "Sorry." He grimaced. "I mean my father and the boys."

  "Aiden and Finn?"

  "Since your father's not here, it seemed fitting I should ask their permission."

  "For?"

  "I'm getting to that." He took a breath and steadied himself. "The hell of it is, Bren, I want that family. I want you. I'll help you raise Aiden and Finn. I know I could never replace their daddy. I don't expect you to move to Texas. There's no reason we can't have two homes." He took a breath. Damn, but he was rambling. "Now I'm getting ahead of myself."

  Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.

  Shit.

  "Hey, don't cry on me, Red." A tear got away, and he brushed it with his thumb.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  "You've been through hell. This can wait." He made a move to stand up.

  She caught his arm. "I want to hear what you have to say."

  He took her hands in his and experimented with the weight and size. It was right. He lifted his face to hers. It was the face in his dreams—soft angles, pink, pliable lips that fit perfectly with his, eyes that corralled his heart.

  Ah, but he was suffering—trembling, too. He'd never proposed—never found a woman he'd willingly give his heart to. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the box.

  Her lashes lowered, and her fingers, still wrapped in his one hand, tightened. Her gaze shifted up again. Those brown eyes were aware, and a little guarded.

  Rafe popped the box open with his thumb and loosened one hand from her grip. Taking the ring from the box, he held it between work-roughened fingers. The diamond, catching the interior light, sparkled with promises of the future—a future with Bren.

  He picked up her hand, his finger running nervously over her knuckles. Intent on her face, he took a deep breath. "I know you're a package deal, Bren. And I wouldn't have it any other way. If you'll have me, I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me, darlin'?"

  Her eyes watered, but a faint smile crossed her lips. Sniffing again, she stro
ked his face. "I thought you said you weren't good with words."

  Rafe's cheeks warmed. "Don't make fun. I'm sweatin' like a plow horse here. Is that a yes?" He waited, his stomach tightening like a clenched fist.

  "Yes." Her voice was soft, quiet. "You're my best friend." She smiled up at him. "I love you."

  He slipped the ring on her finger and pulled her from the truck, giving her a quick, hard kiss. "What am I going to do with you, Red?"

  Their eyes connected and held.

  "Never leave me."

  He slipped his arms around her waist. She was warm and soft, and he held her to him. Her heart pounded. Or maybe it was his heart. He'd found what he'd been looking for—the love of a good woman... a family.

  "No way in hell, darlin'." He kissed her hair, forehead, and then her mouth, his lips moving against hers. "But I'm not one for long engagements."

  Hell, his timing couldn't have been worse. He didn't need a fancy wedding. He only needed her. As far as he was concerned, the only thing standing in his way was a piece of paper. He'd work on the technicalities. But for now, he'd concentrate on the moment, and he kissed her long and deep.

  Epilogue

  Bren stepped from the master bathroom.

  Rafe stood in the doorway to their bedroom. Wearing a pair of blue-plaid pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt, he grinned at her. "Sexy." He crossed the hardwood and pulled her to him. "No horses?" He brushed her bare shoulder with his knuckles before slipping an inquisitive finger under the thin strap of her silk nightgown.

  "It's our wedding night."

  She'd let Rafe have his way—quick, quiet wedding with no fuss, out in the back garden. With God and, she hoped, Tom's blessing, Father Noonan from St. Michael's performed the ceremony, with their fathers—that would be Paddy on Rafe's side—the boys, and Jo.

  Jo... She loved her, wept with her, and would always be there for her like she had during Bren's darkest moments.

  As far as Jeremy was concerned, she'd remember the heart of the man—not his weakness or wicked actions that had altered her life forever.

  "I like it." Rafe's hand reached under the hem to caress her thigh.

  Bren connected with her husband and smiled into his rugged, loving face. "I'm glad you approve." Her hands rode over his muscled chest and broad shoulders. She lifted her chin to accommodate his height. "Where were you earlier?"