by Jodi Henley
The drive paralleled the road before looping back. Paradise done up as a hell of cold mud. Now there was a thought. He blew into his cupped hands, gave up and jammed them down in his pockets instead. If someone made him pull his hands out, they deserved to die. On a pity scale of one to ten, he was a freaking eleven. No wonder Corlis didn’t want anything to do with him. He didn’t want anything to do with him. Two decades of heaven and hellfire, and she’d been playing him the whole time.
“Padraic!”
He almost didn’t stop. “What,” he said finally, not inviting a reply. Maybe she’d get a clue and go away. But being Corlis, sure enough she just stood there, holding all her weight on one leg. She’d been wounded a couple of missions back and Fallon knew the physical therapy wasn’t going well. He’d rubbed the knot out of her thigh often enough. She had to be cramping.
He hesitated, “Want me to—”
“No.”
“Then why the fuck are you here?”
“We can’t go on like this,” she began, starting the speech he’d never wanted to hear.
She wasn’t fooling him. He’d given her the perfect excuse to go back to her old partner, Nick. Shit, he didn’t want to hear it. “Not interested,” he told her.
Corlis snapped a hand out and caught his dog tags. The thick, ball-link chain almost strangled him. He slipped them up over his head and let her have them. He wanted to push her against the nearest tree and kiss the hell out of her, but her expression was far from welcoming.
She balled up his tags and flung them back. “Get over it. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”
“Corlis!”
He made her stop, although the way she stood told him just how much she wanted to leave. She refused to turn and kept her back to him, and in a way he was glad. God knew the odds of him doing something spectacularly stupid had just gone down. He didn’t want to lose her.
“This conversation is over,” she said. “Finish your run and we’ll trade off.”
****
Fallon shoved through the looming tree-ferns. He had his tags, but didn’t remember picking them up. The tarnished rectangles cut into his palm, and the red haze to his vision looked like blood.
Something moved in his peripheral vision. Fallon spun violently, lips drawn back over his teeth. A wall of brambles rose between him and the road. The branches were the only things shielding him from...Deacon O’Malley? Wasn’t that a bitch?
The big blond was almost a full head taller than Fallon and outweighed him by a good fifty pounds. Last time they’d met, the ex-CIA agent had threatened to kick Fallon's teeth in, which bothered him about—yeah, that much.
Deacon was down on the ground and there were a bunch of somebodies kicking the shit out of him, which made Fallon as happy as he’d been in a long time. He settled in against a tree, arms folded down over his chest. It was better than an Asian thriller because, no joke, Deacon rolled over on his knees, got kicked in the ass, and hydroplaned through the mud, arms flailing. Terminally stupid, with a strong emphasis on terminal. His attackers were on him like flies on shit, buzzing in for the kill.
Fallon scratched behind his ear.
It was obvious Deacon had run into a trap. The barricade was classic warfare on a budget. He had gotten out of his car, in the middle of nowhere; knowing trees didn’t just fall over for no damned reason. He deserved an ass-kicking. His attackers spread out behind him in a half-circle, herding him into the trees. And there he went again—Deacon doing the maggot, up and crawling straight at Fallon.
No reason for four guys to barricade the road unless they were laying for him and Fallon could sympathize. He hated the man, but dead wasn’t good enough. He stepped out into the open, smiled at Deacon’s incredulous look and dropped him with a quick kick to the jaw.
His attackers didn’t stop and Fallon was in no mood to back off. He pulled his knife. If they weren’t in it for Deacon, they were in it for Jen.
This was business.
****
Corlis backed out of the refrigerator with a carved porcelain bowl. The elegant dish was rimmed with frost and the eggs were frozen, which didn’t make sense since nothing else was frozen.
She tipped one out and frowned. They weren’t supposed to bounce.
“I have to go to the luau,” Jen was saying.
Keegan’s deeper voice said something in return, a low murmur that made the StallingCo heiress go off.
“My family—”
Her family?
You’d think people that freaking rich would have a live-in servant or something. Someone who could cook.
A chunk of frozen egg white chipped off under her nail. “Got any hot sauce?” she called.
Jen ducked into a cupboard and came out with a skinny bottle. Verde. Right, it figured.
A pounding came from the front of the house. Keegan made for the door with Corlis right behind him. The tiny vestibule at the bottom of the stairs was barely big enough for one, but Fallon shoved his prize in feet first and managed to fold him in two.
“I'll grab his shoulders,” said Keegan. “You grab his legs.”
Fallon moved around the man he’d dragged in and slipped both arms under his knees. Enormous feet in big white sneakers splayed out on either side of him. Fallon swore under his breath and crabbed up the stairs backwards.
Keegan jerked his chin. “Remember this guy?”
He held the other half, head and enormous bull-like neck. The body in-between was familiar. Fallon reached back to help him and between the two of them they managed to roll their burden out into the middle of the room.
Deacon O'Malley. “I know him.” But not for much longer. This time it was up close and personal. Corlis wanted to kill the man whose stupid grandstanding had condemned Fallon to months of torture in a Peruvian prison.
Jen shoved her aside, pushing in front of everybody like a Christmas shopper. “Deacon? Oh my God!”
She grabbed Deacon and brought her hands away bloody, staring at her fingers like she was going to faint. As street theater, all that shaking and moaning left a lot to be desired. Where was the screaming fit or projectile vomiting? That wounded doe look made Corlis want to shoot her.
Keegan pulled Jen away and dragged her into the kitchen.
“Hold your hands out,” he told her, loud and urgent like Corlis rarely heard him. “Damn it, Jen. Listen to me—”
Fallon looked up from where he was rummaging through Deacon’s pockets. “Project security."
He tossed her an ID folder. Corlis flipped it open and compared the handsome, laughing guy in the picture to the man in front of her.
“From CIA to security guard. That’s got to suck.”
Fallon got to his feet and started toward her, a sick, angry look in his eyes that she wished she hadn’t seen. He covered it up fast, almost too fast. Like he’d finally come to the point where he expected nothing from her and didn’t care if she knew it.
Keegan stopped Jen in the doorway, watching them with an expression that suggested he was rethinking the current team assignments.
Her fingers flashed a quick gesture. Not now—
Fallon shot her a sharp look. When?
Corlis leaned forward, her body language shifting to high tension. Tonight.
Chapter Five
Jen rolled the kitchen towel between her palms. Thank God Keegan had got the blood off before she went crazy. One witness to her madness was bad enough.
Keegan took the towel from her and tossed it back down the hall. She stopped herself from rubbing her knuckles.
“He’s unconscious,” she said.
Fallon nodded. “Damn straight. Good odds for a beating. He was on the losing end. Big, slow and stupid.”
“He’s my friend!”
“Baby, we all got problems. Anything to eat up in here?”
“Why didn’t you help him?”
“He’s alive, ain’t he? Considering the history between us, I’d say he got off easy.” Fallon disappeare
d down the hallway and came back with the eggs. He stripped the shell from one with quick, efficient movements. “Salt?” he asked, looking around like she carried a salt shaker in her pocket, disappointed that she didn’t.
Deacon moaned to life, thrashing wildly. He stilled after a second and sat up. “Damn,” he slurred, pushing a tangle of bright yellow hair out of his eyes. “It’s fucking DalCon. What are you doing here, sir?”
He was talking to Keegan. Jen’s eyes went wide when she realized he was calling Keegan, sir. They widened even more when she realized what he’d said.
Had he just swore? Deacon never swore.
“We’re on a job,” Fallon said. He crammed the egg into his mouth and choked, spitting it back in the bowl. “What the hell is that?”
Deacon rolled up on one elbow, feeling his jaw and glaring at Fallon. “I mean, I thought I saw him but I couldn’t be sure. It’s not every day that Pat Fallon comes charging through the trees—”
“Padraic Fallon, asshole.” Fallon ran a finger around the inside of his mouth and spat.
Corlis moved out of the shadows, her eyes hard and flat. “O’Malley.”
“Liss?”
Deacon got his knees under him, expanding upward like a big blond grizzly. His mop of sun-streaked hair hung in his earnest blue eyes. He was the same Deacon he’d always been, only the words were different.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, moving toward her like he wanted a hug.
Corlis stopped him with a look. “We’re not friends. Touch me now, and I’ll cut your balls off. Why here?”
“Why not? The money is good and I get to stay in one place. Shitload of advantages. No down side. Until now—ah, Jesus! Jen, I thought—I don’t know what I thought, but it was all bad. I’m glad to see you’re all right.”
He pulled Jen to his incredibly broad chest and squeezed hard. “Jenny-fleur....”
He released her but kept her hand, running his fingers over the back of her knuckles. Looking for...comfort? He’d been engaged to Terri and the knowledge was there in the look they exchanged.
“I’m sorry...” she whispered around the lump in her throat.
“Yeah,” he said thickly. “So am I. But that’s not what I came for. I need a favor.”
She nodded and his fingers grew frantic, rubbing her knuckles like he wanted her to grant him a wish.
“Do you remember last year?” he asked. “That protest group, the Aina? They reappeared a month ago with a new leader and a different agenda. They want the Project gone and their methods are escalating. I’ve heard they’ll be at the Kualani luau. Please, Jen...I need you to invite me.”
Jen tried to draw away, only to have him hang on to her. “Who are the Aina? And why do you care if they’ll be at Aunt Kate’s luau?” She pulled at her hand. “Deacon?”
Keegan pried him off. “You’re scaring her.”
Deacon was painfully intense, his eyes haunted. “Sir, I want to scare her. She has to understand—”
“Stay where you are,” said Corlis. She turned her gun, flattening her wrist. “Move on my brother again, and I’ll blow you away. I don’t care who you are.”
“I know Terri didn’t kill herself,” said Deacon. He pulled a small box from his pocket and tossed it to Keegan.
“An engagement ring?” Keegan gave him a sharp look. “You were engaged to Terri Rodgers?”
“Yeah, the operative word is was. I wasn’t fucking there. I was in Hilo getting the ring sized. It was too small...God, I’d give anything to have that morning back. I’d...I would have saved her.” Deacon spun on his heel, ignoring Corlis. “I’m going after them, Jen. With you or without you, with your invitation or not. I’m going to kill Kuipo.”
Jen caught his arm. “The Aina killed Terri? And Kuipo is their leader?”
“You can’t change the past,” Keegan said. “Let it go.”
“Fuck that. I’m not letting anything go. Try again.” Deacon looked straight at Keegan. “Sir.”
“I don’t know what they look like,” said Jen. “They could be out there right now, watching us. That’s who you were fighting. Omigod, Deacon. You led the Aina to me.”
The thick sweater she’d changed into wasn’t enough. Jen shivered, rubbing at her arms.
Keegan shook his head at her. “Don’t fall apart now.”
“Info for backup,” Deacon said quickly.
“What do you have?”
He sat quietly for a few moments. “You know how it is when a group gets so big they start throwing off splinter cells? The Aina fragged about seven months ago. Their leader is a woman who calls herself Kuipo. I know for a fact she’ll be at the Kualani luau. She’s calling in her people, getting ready for some kind of move. It’s solid, sir. All the way, solid. I was working it myself.”
Keegan tossed the ring back.
Deacon caught it with both hands and Jen got the impression he was holding on to his sanity in much the same way. He didn’t look at anyone, eyes locked on the glittering diamond.
“What can you do for me?” he asked.
Keegan shook his head. “We have a client, you know where I stand.”
“Guess that’s it then.” Deacon shoved the ring down in his pocket and started away.
Jen spoke up. “Deacon?”
For a second she thought he wouldn’t answer, but their friendship must have still meant something to him, because he stopped—although he kept his gaze firmly on the floor. “Not now, Jen. Please?”
The tension in the room ran like invisible wires. Corlis made a low sound, lips pulling up off her teeth. Fallon blocked her, pointing the egg bowl at her like a gun. He was clean from the wrists down, but blood caked the stiff fabric of his sleeves.
“If I can handle it, you can too. Let it go, Liss.”
She nodded abruptly and shoved past Jen, her mouth folded tight. Her partner gave Deacon a look that promised retribution wasn’t far off and followed. Deacon watched them go. Keegan watched Deacon, and Jen felt like she was caught in a rip-tide without a life preserver. What was going on?
“I’ll call ahead,” she said to Deacon. “Make sure you bring some form of picture ID.”
****
Jen brushed aside an old jacket and some sneakers to get at the dress she'd thrown in the back of her walk-in closet. The fancy padded hanger was from her aunt's favorite designer and smelled like civet. Or maybe it was the way Corlis leaned against the door, blocking the flow of fresh air, hands shoved down in her pockets.
Too bad she wouldn’t go away.
Jen pulled the thin gold film off and held her aunt's family-approved dress to her throat. “What do you think?”
The only thing Corlis moved was her eyes. “It’s too much of a risk.”
“The dress or the party?” Keegan stepped out on the landing and crossed to them. He glanced at the dress. “It’s a pretty color.”
Jen turned on the closet light, and moved to look at herself in the wall mirror.
Big pink ruffles ringed the bottom of the dress. Bright pink ruffles. She didn’t remember them being so big. Or so pink. Pepto-Bismol pink?
Keegan met her eyes in the glass and for a second, the dress didn’t matter. Her lips parted.
Corlis made a disgusted noise. “Pick something easy to run in.”
“The skirt’s really loose,” said Jen. “It’s a holomu’u. You know, a native Hawaiian dress? My aunt wanted me to have something special to wear to the luau.” She folded the dress down over her arm and gave Keegan another quick look before she disappeared into the bathroom.
Keegan moved away to stop his sister from making another sound. He was tired and sore. “Looking doesn’t hurt,” he growled at her. Anything to take his mind off his burning shoulder.
The bathroom door opened and Jen walked out, brushing her hair down over one shoulder. The dress was long and bell-shaped, the fabric too stiff to drape. She looked like a big pink Popsicle, but when she smiled at him, he couldn't breathe.
&n
bsp; “What do you think?”
Everything from his hips on down had a mind of its own and wanted to get under that Popsicle shell. “Beautiful,” he managed.
She tied her hair off and flipped it back. “Thanks for helping me out,” she said, like talking made her uncomfortable. Or maybe it was just the situation that made her uncomfortable. She gave thanks like they were wedged in her throat.
He shrugged and stared out the window. Sunlight spreading over the silvery gray leaves made the surrounding forest glitter like it was carved of precious metals.
“We're too isolated,” he said abruptly. “We don't have enough manpower to control your perimeter.”
Behind them, Corlis started down the stairs. Keegan heard her in the lower stairwell, working the front door just before it closed with a sharp snap.
Jen joined him at the window, skirts gathered up in her fists. “StallingCo is never quiet. I love the peace here. The…lack of eyes.”
“It won’t last. Once that power plant goes live, there’ll be people all up in here.”
She shrugged gracefully. “People and jobs. Ua mau ke ea o ka aina I ka pono. The life of the land is preserved in righteousness. It’s the state motto. It’s what the Project is all about,” she told him. “Change.”
He turned to face her. “People don’t like change. They fight it.”
Jen studied him with a bemused air. “Are those your only clothes?”
After he'd taken a shower, he'd put his dirty ACUs back on. Everything else was sitting in the Seattle-Tacoma airport.
“They're dry,” he said defensively.
“My aunt has high standards. Security won’t let you out of the parking lot looking like that.”
His sweat-stained, slept-in pants picked that moment to crawl up his ass. “Your father wanted the team. Clothes weren’t a priority.”
“I don’t think clothes are ever a priority with you.”
“I’m good with guns,” said Keegan.
“Are you?”
