The Rogue

by Lindsay McKenna

  "I love it! I wouldn't have it any other way.''

  Killian quietly suffered the din in the cafeteria, his senses heightened and pummeled at the same time. He nodded to Susannah, but his concentration was on the faculty. There was a possibility that the hit man could pose as a teacher, slip in and try to kill Susannah in the school. All morning he'd been committing faculty faces to memory, his gaze roving restlessly across the huge, noisy cafeteria.

  "Well? Did you find what you were looking for?" Susannah asked, eating her chili.

  "I located possible sites," Killian said, not wanting to refer directly to the topic for fear of scaring the attentive, listening children who surrounded them. "I'll discuss it with you tonight, when we get home."

  With a sigh, Susannah smiled. "Home. It sounds so nice when you say that."

  Avoiding her sparkling gaze, which sent a flush of heat sheeting through him, Killian nodded and paid attention to the apple he was eating but not tasting. Home anywhere with Susannah was a dream come true, he decided sourly. Four o'clock couldn't come soon enough because Killian realized he wanted time alone with Susannah. Each moment was a precious drop of a dream that, he knew, must someday come to an end. And, like a man lost in the desert, he thirsted for each drop that she gave him simply by being nearby.

  "You're exhausted," Killian told Susannah as they worked in the kitchen preparing their dinner. He'd taken on the salad-making duties, and she was frying some steaks.

  "Oh, I'm okay. First days are always that way. I'll adjust."

  He glanced at her as he cut a tomato deftly with a knife. Susannah had changed into a pair of jeans and a pink sleeveless blouse. She was barefoot. He frowned as he studied her at the stove.

  "Maybe you ought to switch to half days for now."

  "No. . . I'll be okay, Sean. It's just that the first days are overwhelming. The children—" she glanced up and met his serious-looking face "—needed reassuring that I wouldn't abandon them. Handicapped children are so sensitized to possible loss of the people they rely on. They live in a very narrow world, and part of their stability is the fixedness of activity within it. If a teacher or a parent suddenly leaves, it's terribly upsetting to them."

  "So you were applying Band-Aids all day?"

  She grinned. "You might say that. You look a little tired yourself."

  With a shrug, Killian placed the two salad bowls on the table near their plates. "A little," he lied. He'd hardly slept at all last night.

  "Is the school a viable target?" she asked as she arranged their steaks on the plates.

  Killian heard the quaver in her voice. He sat down and said, "There are pros and cons to it. The only place where you're really a target is the school-bus loading and unloading zone. The gym facility across the street is two stories tall—ideal for a hit man to hide in and draw a bead on you."

  Trying to stay calm, Susannah sat down after pouring them each a cup of coffee. Taking a pink paper napkin, she spread it across her lap. "This is so upsetting, Sean."

  "I know." The strain on Susannah's face said it all. Killian wished he wasn't always the bearer of such bad tidings.

  "It's not your fault." She cut a piece of her steak and gave him a sidelong look. "Do these men hit quickly?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, if a contract's been put out on me, will he try to get it done quickly, instead of waiting months to do it?"

  "They like to get paid. They'll do it as quickly as possible to collect the balance of the money."

  Susannah pushed some salad around with her fork. "Have you heard from the police about a possible identification from the sketch I gave you a few days ago?"

  "Not yet. I was hoping Morgan or the Lexington police would call me. With any luck," Killian said, eating a bite of the succulent steak, "we'll have more answers by tomorrow at the latest."

  "And if you find out who my attacker is, you'll be able to know whether or not he's part of a larger drug ring?"

  "Yes."

  With a sigh, Susannah forced herself to eat. "I just wish it was over."

  "So I'd be out of your life."

  She gave him a tender look. "You're something good that's happened to me, Sean. I don't want you out of my life."

  With a disgruntled look, he growled, "If I were you, I would."

  As gently as possible, Susannah broached the subject of Meg with him. "Has your sister had any therapy to help her through the trauma she endured?"

  Killian looked up. "A little." He frowned. "Not enough, as far as I'm concerned. Ian, her fiancé, wants to come back into her life, but Meg is afraid to let it happen."

  Once again Susannah saw the anguish burning in Killian's eyes, anguish and love for his sister. There was no question but that he cared deeply about her. It was sweet to know that he now trusted her enough to reveal a small piece of his real self. Still, she knew she would have to tread lightly if Sean was to remain open and conversant. What had changed in him to make him more accessible? Possibly today at the school, she thought, cutting another piece of meat.

  "Ian still loves her?"

  Killian's mouth twisted. "He never stopped."

  Susannah moved back to the stove. "You sound confused about that. Why?"

  "Because Ian is letting his love for her tear him apart years afterward. He won't forget Meg. He refuses to."

  "Love isn't something that dries up and goes away just because there's a tragedy," she said gently, passing him the platter of meat.

  Killian placed another piece of steak on his plate, then handed the platter back to Susannah. "If you ask me, love is a special kind of torture. Ian twists in the wind waiting for Meg to take him back."

  "He loves her enough to wait," Susannah noted. She saw Killian's eyes harden, the fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

  Glancing at her, he snapped, "Love is nothing but pain. I saw it too many times, too many ways, growing up. I've watched Ian suffer. It's not worth it."

  "What? Loving someone?" Susannah stopped eating and held his turbulent gaze.

  "Yes."

  Treading carefully, she asked, "Does Meg allow Ian back into her life in any form?"

  "No, only me. She trusts only me."

  "Why won't she allow Ian to help her recover?"

  Flatly he responded, "Because Meg is disfigured. She's ugly compared to what she used to look like."

  Suffering was all too evident on Killian's hard features. Susannah ached for both him and Meg. "She thinks that if Ian sees her he'll leave her anyway?"

  "Yes, I guess so. But Ian knows she's no longer beautiful, and he doesn't care. I tried to tell Meg that, but she won't listen."

  "Maybe Ian needs to go to Meg directly and confront her about it."

  With a snort, Killian shook his head. "Let's put it this way. Our family—what's left of it, Meg and me are bullheaded."

  "She's not being bullheaded," Susannah said softly. "She's sticking her head in the sand and pretending Ian and his feelings don't count."

  Killian moved around uncomfortably in his. chair. "Sometimes," he muttered defiantly, "running away is the least of all evils."

  Susannah met and held his dark blue gaze. "I don't agree. Having the courage to face the other person is always better. You should tell Ian to go to Meg and talk things out."

  "If Ian knew where she lived, he'd have done that a long time ago."

  She stared at him. "You won't tell him where she lives?"

  "How can I? Meg begs me not to. Do you think I'm going to go against her wishes?"

  "But," Susannah said lamely, "that would help heal the situation, Sean. Ian wouldn't be left feeling so tortured. Meg wouldn't feel so alone."

  Smarting beneath her wisdom, Killian forced his attention back to his plate. He'd lost his appetite. "You're young, Susannah. You're protected. If you'd been kicked around like my family has been, gone through what we've gone through, you wouldn't be so eager for emotional confrontations."

  She felt his panic—and his anger. "I k
now I'm naive," she whispered.

  "Life makes you tired," Killian rasped. "Try getting hit broadside again and again and see how willing you are to get up and confront it again. Believe me, you'll think twice about it. If lan's smart, he'll get on with his life and forget Meg."

  The depth of his belief in running and hiding frightened Susannah. How many other women had wanted to love Killian? How many had he left? Upset, she could only say, "If I were Ian, I'd go to Meg. I'd love her enough to find her on my own without your help."

  Killian saw the flash of stubbornness in her eyes, and felt it in her voice. He offered her a twisted, one- cornered smile. "Idealism doesn't make it in this world, and neither does hope. You've got too much of both, Susannah. All they'll do is hurt you in the end."

  Susannah was getting ready to take a bath around ten that night when the phone rang. Killian was sitting in the living room, reading the newspaper. His head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. Forcing herself to answer the phone, Susannah picked up the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  "Susannah?"

  "Morgan! How are you?"

  "I'm fine. Better question is, how are you doing with Killian there?"

  She flushed and avoided Killian's interested gaze. "Better," she whispered, suddenly emotional. "Much better."

  "Good. Listen, I need to talk to Killian. Can you put him on?"

  "Sure. Give Laura and the kids my love, will you?"

  "Of course. Are you doing all right physically?"

  Susannah heard the guilt in Morgan's voice and knew that he blamed himself in some way for her problems. Her hand tightened on the phone. "I'm improving every day," she promised.

  "The headaches?"

  Susannah thought for a moment. "Why," she breathed as the realization sank in, "I've had fewer since Killian arrived. Isn't that wonderful?"

  "It is."

  "I'll put Sean on the phone. Hold on." Susannah held the phone toward Killian. "It's Morgan. He wants to talk to you."

  Unwinding from his chair, Killian put the newspaper aside.

  Just the touch of Killian's fingers on her own as he took the receiver sent an ache throbbing through Susannah. Sensing that he wanted to be alone to talk to Morgan, Susannah left to take her bath.

  Holding the receiver, Killian waited until Susannah was gone. "Morgan?"

  "Yes. How's it going?"

  "All right," Killian said noncommittally, keeping his voice low. He continued to watch the doorway that Susannah had disappeared through. If the conversation was disturbing, he didn't want her to overhear and become upset. "What's going on?"

  "That sketch you sent that Susannah drew?"

  "Yes?"

  "We've got a positive identification from the FBI. His name is Huey Greaves, and he was a middleman stateside for Santiago's ring. So my hunch was correct—unfortunately. Greaves doubles as a hit man for Santiago whenever another cartel tries to encroach on his territory. The man who was killed was there to pick up drugs that were later found in one of the bus terminal luggage bins. He was from another drug ring — one that's been trying to move in on Santiago's territory."

  Killian released a ragged breath, cursing softly. Susannah was in serious danger. "You've given this info to the Lexington police?"

  "Yes. They've got an APB out on him. They've also alerted the county sheriff who covers Glen and the Anderson farm."

  Grimly Killian gazed around the living room, which was dancing in the shadows created by the two hurricane lamps. "The bastard will hit Susannah."

  Morgan sighed. "It's only a matter of time. Santiago—it figures."

  "I've got to talk to her about this," Killian rasped. "She's got to know the danger involved. She started teaching today, and under the circumstances I don't think it's a good idea for her to go in tomorrow morning."

  "No," Morgan agreed. "We know from experience that Santiago will go to any lengths. His people wouldn't care if there are children involved. Keep her at the farm, Killian. It's safer for everyone that way."

  Killian almost laughed at the irony of the situation. No place was safe for Susannah—not even with him. "Yeah, I'll keep her here."

  "You know Glen doesn't have much of a police department. The county sheriff is the only one who can help you if you get into trouble. Get the number and keep it handy. With budget cuts, they only have two patrol cars for the entire county, so don't expect too much. A two-hour delay wouldn't be unusual, Killian. I'm afraid you're really on your own on this one. The county sheriff knows who you are and why you're there, and if they see this guy they'll call to let you know—and send a sheriff's cruiser in your direction as soon as humanly possible."

  "Good." At least the police and the FBI were working together on this. Still, chances were that when the hit went down it would be Killian against the killer.

  "Stay in touch," Morgan said.

  "Thanks, Morgan. I will." Killian scowled as he hung up the phone. He wasn't looking forward to telling Susannah the bad news.

  Susannah couldn't sleep. She was restless, tossing and turning on her ancient brass bed. The night air was warm, and she pushed off the sheet. Her watch read 2:00 a.m. It was the phone call from Morgan that had left her sleepless.

  With a muffled sound of frustration, Susannah got up. She didn't want to wake Sean. Just the thought of him sent a flurry of need through her as she padded softly down the hall to the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of hot chamomile tea would help settle her screaming nerves so that she could sleep. But, she warned herself, tea wasn't going to stop the simmering desire that had been building in her for days.

  Susannah ran a hand through her unbound hair, then opened the cabinet and took out a cup and saucer. Killian had warned her away from him—told her that he was no good for her. Why couldn't she listen to his thinly veiled threat?

  "Susannah?"

  Gasping, she whirled around, nearly dropping the cup from her hand. Killian stood in the doorway, his drawstring pajamas barely held up by his narrow hips. His eyes were soft with sleep, and his hair was tangled across his brow. Her heart pounding, Susannah released a breath.

  "You seared me."

  "Sorry," he muttered, any remaining sleepiness torn from him as he studied her in the shadowy moonlight that crossed the kitchen. Her knee-length white gown gave her an angelic look, and the moonlight outlined her body like a lover's caress through the light cotton fabric. The dark frame of hair emphasized the delicateness of her features, especially her parted lips.

  "I—I couldn't sleep." She gestured toward the kettle on the stove. "I thought I'd make some chamomile tea."

  "Morgan's call upset you?"

  "Yes."

  Easing into the room, Killian crossed to the table and sat down. His head was screaming at him to go back to bed, but his heart clamored for her closeness.

  "Make me a cup, will you?"

  "Sure." Susannah's pulse wouldn't seem to settle down, and she busied herself at the counter, attempting to quell her nervousness. Killian's body was hard and lean. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, to feel his arms around her.

  As Susannah turned, the cups of tea in her hands, the window at the kitchen counter shattered, glass exploding in all directions.

  "Get down!" Killian shouted. Launching himself out of his chair, he took Susannah with him as he slammed to the floor. More glass shattered, splintering in rainbow fragments all around them.

  Susannah groaned under Killian's weight, her mind spinning with shock. She could hear Killian's harsh breathing, and his cursing, soft and strained. Almost instantly she felt his steely grip on her arms as he dragged her upward and positioned her against the corner cabinets for protection.

  Her eyes wide, she took in the harshness in his sweaty features.

  "The hit man," he rasped. Dammit! He'd left his pistol in the bedroom. He noticed small, bloody cuts on Susannah's right arm.

  "But—how?"

  Killian shook his head, putting his finger to his lips. Silence was crucial r
ight now. The hit man had to be on the porch. But why the hell hadn't he heard him? Felt him? A hundred questions battered Killian. His senses were now screamingly alert. He had to get to his gun, or they were both dead!

  Gripping Susannah's wrist, Killian tugged and motioned for her to follow him. If they couldn't make it to his bedroom, they were finished. The last thing he wanted was Susannah dead. The thought spurred him into action.

  Gasping for breath, Susannah scrambled out of the kitchen on her hands and knees. In the darkened hall, Killian jerked her to her feet, shoving her forward and into his room. Instantly he pushed her onto the floor and motioned for her to wriggle beneath the bed and remain there.

  Killian's fingers closed over the pistol on the nightstand. The feel of the cool metal was reassuring. Now they had a chance. His eyes narrowed as he studied the window near his bed and the open door to his room.

  "Stay down!" he hissed. "Whatever happens, stay here!"

  Tears jammed into Susannah's eyes as she looked up into his taut, glistening features. Here was the mercenary. The soldier who could kill. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.

  "Don't move!" Killian warned. He leaped lightly to his feet, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation. He tugged at the blanket so that it hung off the bed and concealed Susannah's glaringly white nightgown. Swiftly he turned on his heel and moved to the door, his hands wrapped around the pistol that he held high and at the ready.

  Killian was angry at himself—angry that he'd dropped his guard because he cared for Susannah. He pressed himself hard against the wall and listened. His nostrils flared to catch any unusual scent. Morgan Trayhern had called him a hound from hell on more than one occasion because of his acutely honed senses. Well, they'd saved his life more than once. Tonight, he had to count on his abilities to save Susannah.

  As he ducked out of the entrance and quickly looked up and down the hall, Killian saw no evidence of the hit man. Then a creak of wood made him freeze. There! The kitchen! His heart was a thudding sledgehammer in his chest, his quiet breathing was ragged. The bastard was in the kitchen.

  There! Killian heard the crunch of glass. How close to the kitchen doorway was he? He continued down the hall soundlessly, on the balls of his feet. His hands sweaty, beads of perspiration running down his temples, Killian focused like a laser on his quarry. Susannah's killer. Only two more feet and he'd have enough of an angle to peer into the darkened depths of the kitchen. Every muscle in his body stiffened with expectation.