An Oakdale officer met him at the door, barring his entrance. “I’m sorry, you can’t come in here.”
Kyle had the sudden urge to throat-punch the guy, but instead, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and produced his ID. “Agent Kyle Dawson,” he said, flashing his badge. “I received a call from someone at this residence.”
“It’s okay, Mike,” Gabe said, coming up behind him, Tom and Joe in tow. “He’s our brother. Let him in.”
Officer “Mike” did a double-take at Kyle, then stepped aside. “Sure. Sorry. Come on in.”
Kyle squeezed by before the guy was even out of the doorway, rushing into the dark house. Why the hell weren’t there any lights, by the way?
His father was barking orders in the semidarkness. As Kyle headed in the direction of his father’s voice, he felt a brief spike of apprehension at the thought of walking headlong into the same room as the Old Man, but his concern for Abby overrode his instinct to turn around and walk away.
“Abby!” he called out again as he reached the entrance to what appeared to be the living room. A man in what looked like a security guard’s uniform sat on a couch with an ice pack on the crown of his head, apparently having taken a blow to the back of the head.
Frantic, he looked for Abby, his gaze taking in the entire room at a glance. His throat went tight when he caught sight of her sitting on the couch, her shoulders slightly hunched, her gorgeous blond hair a tangled mess. Her gray T-shirt was rumpled, a small tear near the collar, and her white capris had a smudge of dirt on the knee, but she was in far better condition than he’d feared he would find her. Sitting next to her was her nephew Tyler. The boy’s wide blue eyes, so very similar to Abby’s, turned their attention to the doorway where he stood.
For a long, heavy moment, Abby’s gaze met Kyle’s, her expression unreadable. And for a few agonizing seconds, Kyle thought maybe she was in shock and didn’t recognize him. But then she launched to her feet and rushed toward him, a strangled sob escaping her as he moved forward to meet her.
And then she was throwing herself into his arms, squeezing him around the neck so hard he could hardly breathe. He gathered her close, holding her as his heart pounded with relief and joy at finding her alive. And it was almost as if they’d never been apart, as if there’d never been any harsh words or misunderstandings. Almost. But then Abby’s hold on him suddenly loosened and she was pushing out of their embrace.
She wiped at her cheeks in a quick swipe as if embarrassed by her tears and took a step back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—I mean, I didn’t realize…” Her words trailed off as a frown brought her fair brows together. “What are you doing here? How did you know?”
“You called me,” Kyle explained, trying to recover his composure and not let on how much he’d enjoyed having her back in his arms again—even if for just a few short moments—and how much it killed him to let her go. “I heard what was happening and got here as soon as I could.”
She cocked her head to one side, clearly confused. “But…I thought you were in New Orleans.”
“In case you failed to notice, this happens to be a crime scene,” his father interrupted. “And while I appreciate the FBI’s concern, I’m sure their illustrious agents have more important business to attend to than a humble little B&E. I have no doubt that we small-town cops can handle even a case like this without your assistance.”
Kyle tried his damnedest not to roll his eyes. He should’ve known the first encounter with Mac would be like this after the way the last one had ended. And he wasn’t surprised one bit to hear his own angry words thrown back in his face. But it still pissed him off.
He sent an exasperated glance his dad’s way, then turned his attention back at Abby. “Breaking and entering?”
An almost imperceptible flush rose to her cheeks. “Yes.”
She was lying. Why?
“Perhaps you misunderstood me,” Mac said, his voice louder. “We currently do not have need of your services, Agent Dawson.”
Kyle turned to finally peg the Old Man with an exasperated look. His father hadn’t changed a bit. Tall, powerfully built, Mac Dawson was just as imposing a figure as he’d ever been and as full of piss and vinegar as Kyle remembered. And he was looking at his youngest son like he was an intruder, an outsider who had no business there.
Hell, maybe he was right. But Kyle had never given him the satisfaction of an easy victory, so why start today?
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Way of the Warrior Page 40
