If only

by Cherise Sinclair

  “My fault,” Galen said. He’d been unnaturally quiet, even for him.

  “Shut up.” At the dark glance, Vance elaborated. “You fucked up by yelling at her, yes. But she also knew we wouldn’t react well or she wouldn’t have hidden what she was doing. And she broke the law.” He slid out of the car and glanced back. “So get your head out of your ass.”

  The flush of angry red on his partner’s face was rather rewarding, and Vance barely managed to smother his laugh. Being a peacemaker might be costing him some fun—maybe he’d start poking at his friends instead.

  As Galen knocked on the door, Vance glanced around. An equipment building. A barn just past the coop. Chickens in a pen. Cornfields. No barking dogs. Maybe Hart had decided they were too much work.

  The door opened to show Sally’s stocky father. Where Sally’s brown eyes were filled with sweetness or alive with mischief, Hart’s looked like frozen dirt in his weathered face. The farmer shifted to block the doorway. “What d’you want?”

  Well, there was a welcome. “We’re here to see Sally,” Vance said, using his nice guy persona. “I see her car is here,” he added, forestalling any lies that she wasn’t home.

  “She didn’t tell me you were coming.” Hart took a step back as Galen moved into his personal space.

  Using his cane as a prop, Galen sidled past the old man and into the foyer.

  “Stop, you—”

  “Is she in her room?” Vance shrugged off his denim jacket before slinging it over his shoulder. Nothing like a pistol in a shoulder harness to silence bluster. Probably didn’t hurt that he and Galen looked battered enough to have been in a bar brawl.

  “Upstairs.” At the ringing of an old-fashioned landline phone, the man abandoned the fight and stomped away to answer it.

  As Vance followed Galen up the stairs, he heard the man saying, “She’s here.”

  A pause. A protest, “Won’t work. She has men visiting her.”

  Pause.

  Perhaps the brother? Was he causing trouble? Vance stopped on the steps to listen.

  “Bring them? Hell, boy, are you out of your mind? I don’t want to—”

  Pause.

  “Fine. Six o’clock. Yeah, I’ll come.”

  “There’s a grudging acceptance,” Galen said under his breath. His gaze was cold as he looked back down the stairs. A second later, he resumed the climb, using his cane. The hours in the cramped flight obviously hadn’t done his knee any favors.

  The hallway at the top led both directions, but thumping noises came from the end room on the right.

  When his partner squared his shoulders, Vance wondered if the imp realized how much Galen cared. How easily she could damage him.

  Not just Galen, either. Vance shook his head. The thought of losing her hurt deep enough to hit the marrow.

  Galen tapped on the door.

  It opened. “Yes, Fath—” Sally’s eyes went round. “Galen?” Her voice came out a whisper. “Vance?” But the flash of joy she showed transformed into a frozen, distant expression that was more ominous than anger. Her hair was down, no makeup, old T-shirt and jeans. Red-rimmed eyes.

  They’d made her cry. Vance felt that like a stab in his chest.

  Her mouth firmed into her more-stubborn-than-a-mule expression. “Go home, guys. The fun is over.”

  She shoved the door shut so fast that only Galen’s cane kept it from closing. Good reflexes, pard.

  And without a second of thought, he and Galen applied their shoulders to the door.

  The imp staggered back into a very stark bedroom. Three boxes sat on the bed, another on the floor. No pictures, no knickknacks. Walls with peeling paint. Splintering hardwood floor. No carpet. The drapes were filthy and fraying on the edges. The room was as welcoming as her asshole of a father.

  “Dammit, get out,” Sally spat. The ice was gone, and she was looking meaner than Glock on vaccination day.

  Galen held up his hand. “May I have ten minutes? After that, you can kick us out, if you wish.”

  TEN MINUTES. COULD she keep from crying for that long? Sally wasn’t sure. Letting Galen talk would be the quickest way to get rid of them. Undoubtedly he’d explain how hacking the Harvest Association was dangerous and threaten her with arrest if she didn’t stop. She could handle that. She’d say okay, and they’d leave. Crossing her arms over her chest, she snapped, “Fine. Go ahead.”

  Galen hesitated. He looked so tired. Despite her teasing, she never really thought of him as being older—all his energy and passion made him seem her age—but the lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes had deepened. His cheekbone was bruised and swollen. His jaw had two days of beard growth. He hadn’t shaved…since she left?

  “I lost my temper with you,” he said gravely. “You don’t need to forgive me, but I want you to know why I reacted so badly.”

  She opened her mouth to say something flippant and stopped. Galen always apologized if he did something wrong, and she admired that. But he’d never looked so—exposed. All she could do was nod.

  “A few years ago, I was married.”

  Yes, he’d mentioned he was a widower, and his expression had been so closed she hadn’t asked any questions.

  “I was on a violent crimes task force, concentrating on gangs. We’d just arrested several members of a gang.” He pulled in a breath. “Threats to agents aren’t uncommon, but I never thought…”

  Vance stood apart, watching silently. He’d shaved, and beneath his dark tan, a purpling bruise ran along his right jaw, making her heart ache.

  Galen leaned on his cane, something he rarely did when just standing. Tough Guy never wanted to show weakness. But she could see he was hurting, and her hand trembled with the need to hold his, to comfort him.

  His voice was rough as he said, “My wife was home. Decorating for a birthday party for her sister the next night.”

  He stared at the wall, his eyes tormented. Filled with pain.

  God, Galen. As if pulled by a chain, Sally took a step forward, hesitated, and hugged him. She heard the cane hit the floor, and his arms wrapped around her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

  He held her there, a second, another.

  “Go on,” she whispered against his shoulder.

  His voice was husky. “She planned to meet me at a restaurant, since I had to work late. She didn’t arrive. Didn’t answer her phone.” His cheek was against her hair. “I drove home. Too late. Far too fucking late. Some of the gang had busted down the back door. They…took their anger out on her, used her as a lesson to me. And killed her.”

  “Oh, Galen.” Sally rubbed her cheek on his chest, wanting only to comfort. How could someone so protective live with that?

  “She died…in terror. In pain. I wasn’t there, Sally. I didn’t keep her safe. Instead, she was murdered because of me.”

  And suddenly the reason he’d totally freaked out in the cabana blasted into her brain. She’d told him she loved him, and there she was, taunting the Harvest Association. If she died at their hands, what would it do to Galen?

  A shudder ran through her. Turning her head, she looked at Vance. Jaw tight, eyes haunted. He was hurting too. She held her hand out to him, and he pushed off the wall.

  Once he was close enough, she wrapped an arm around him. Now that she wasn’t blinded by anger, she realized he’d been as upset with her hacking as Galen. He’d just handled it better.

  If they thought the Harvest Association would murder her as they had Lieutenant Tillman, of course they’d be afraid.

  Sure she knew how good she was, but her Doms didn’t. Not that they’d given her a chance to explain, the jerks, but…

  “I’ll stop,” she said. She pulled away and faced them, feeling a tug of loss for her work. She’d wanted to be hero. To do something special. Worthy. “I’ll give you my files. And I won’t do any more hacking.”

  At one time, Galen had been able to make his expression unreadable, but either he’d lost the ability or he
r gaze was keener. She saw how his relief cleared some of the pain lurking in the shadows of his eyes.

  Now that she knew what haunted him, maybe she could help.

  “Are you sure, sweetheart?” Vance asked.

  She wanted to hug him for just being his wonderful reasonable self. His steadiness balanced Galen. Okay, he balanced her too. And right now, she very badly wanted to see him smile. See them both smile.

  Wrinkling her nose, she gave them her cutest pout. “If quitting is what it takes to keep you two safe, I guess that’s what I need to do.”

  Galen rubbed his hands over his face as if to move on. “Keep us safe?” he asked in disbelief. When he glanced at Vance, his eyes held the amusement she loved to see.

  “I like being safe.” Vance touched the tip of her nose. “I think we should take her up on her offer.”

  “Well. Thank you, pet.” Galen nodded at the boxes on the bed. “Why don’t we load those into your car? We have rooms at the hotel in town. The one hotel. We can go back there and talk.”

  “But—” She was done packing. No need to stay here. “Okay. But talk about what?”

  Vance took her shoulders. “Don’t you want to stay with us?”

  Stay?

  Vance was frowning, and the expression on Galen’s face probably mirrored her own—indecision, worry. “I… Let’s talk at the hotel.”

  She heard the heavy thud of her father’s boots on the stairs and a rap on the door. “Sally, Tate’s having us there for supper. The men are invited, as well. We leave in fifteen minutes.”

  Great. A horribly uncomfortable meal at her brother’s. Could she refuse? No, it might—probably would—be the last time she’d ever see them. Why the realization should make her heart hurt, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if there’d been any love there. Ever. She looked at the men. “Do you two mind?”

  Vance’s mouth was set in a line. “You’re sure not going there without us.”

  Galen nodded. “Let’s load up your car first so you don’t need to return here.”

  God, she really did love them, and how scary was that?

  * * * *

  Leaving their vehicles—the Feds’ rental, her rental, and her father’s truck, Sally followed the three men up to her brother’s house, escorted by an elderly yellow lab and an energetic Australian shepherd.

  Before reaching the porch, Sally looked around. Their grandparents had owned the place, but they’d died when she was little and, although her father planted the fields, he’d let the farmhouse and barn deteriorate.

  Tate had put everything back into perfect condition, and the old two-story clapboard was a pristine white with navy-blue shutters and trim. The barn had been painted the traditional red-brown. The eight-foot spirea bushes that lined the gravel road to cut down the noise and dust were pruned. And to her surprise, pink petunias lined the concrete sidewalk.

  Since when had Tate planted pretty flowers? Or owned dogs, for that matter?

  Probably alerted by the barking Aussie, her brother came down the porch steps, sidestepping the dogs. He was clean shaven, brown hair cut short, wearing jeans and a Willie Nelson T-shirt. “Sally. It’s good to see you.”

  The welcome in his voice and his smile made her stare. “Uh. And you.” Flustered, she turned and pointed to each man in turn. “Vance Buchanan, Galen Kouros. Guys, this is my brother, Tate Hart.”

  Tate’s eyes narrowed as he looked over her scruffy, bruised men…and he could probably see Galen’s weapon under his open leather jacket.

  Off to one side, her father watched with his usual frown.

  As the men performed a guy handshaking ritual, Sally noticed more changes. A small bike with training wheels and a bright red trike were parked by the porch. A football lay near an overturned dollhouse, where dolls were scattered around like victims in a war.

  Tate hadn’t had children three years ago…had he?

  “They’re here!” The childish scream came from one of the two children tearing out the front door. A boy, perhaps around eight, was followed by a slightly younger girl. Both blond and blue-eyed. Maybe not Tate’s then.

  “C’mere, you two.” Tate motioned. The boy stepped up to his right.

  The girl pressed against his left side and studied Vance and Galen warily. Her attention turned to Sally. She beamed. “You’re Daddy’s sister.”

  Tate a daddy? Sally gave herself a mental shake, grinned, and held her hand out. “That’s right. I’m Sally. Who are you guys?”

  The boy took her hand. “I’m Dylan, and she’s Emma. Do you really live in Florida?”

  “I do. I’m—” She was interrupted by a woman’s voice.

  “Tate, don’t keep them standing out there. Bring them in.” With coloring that matched the children’s, a woman in a V-necked silky red top and blue jeans stood on the porch. She gave Tate a frown and waved at the group. “We have beer and wine and pop. Come on in.”

  “Beer sounds good,” Vance said, hooking an arm around Sally. “And something smells delicious.”

  “Leigh Anne is a great cook,” Tate said. He waved them up the steps, dodged the stream of children and dogs, and followed with their father.

  It was a welcoming house. The living room held comfortable-looking, worn couches and chairs in dark greens, a large-screen television, and toys spilling from a wooden trunk. The woman led the way through and into the dining room. “Since the food’s all ready to go, why don’t you go ahead and be seated. And what would you like to drink?” She rolled her eyes. “I forgot—I’m Leigh Anne.”

  Tate entered the room in time to hear her, and he laughed.

  Laughed.

  Sally barely managed to close her mouth. As he started another round of introductions, she watched. Since when had Tate been so…relaxed? Nice? She wanted to poke the guy and ask what he’d done with her real brother.

  Drink orders were taken, and the men opted for beer, except for Galen, who requested wine.

  Sally grinned at him and whispered, “Wussy.”

  “That’s me.” He tangled his hand in her hair—a Dom’s ready-made leash—and tugged her closer. “I’ve missed your mouth,” he murmured, bent closer, and whispered, “And I intend to use it later tonight.”

  The ruthless grip on her hair and the promise in his black eyes sent heat stampeding through her veins. She might tease him about being unmacho, but no one ever doubted he had far more testosterone than was good for a man. She swallowed hard and whispered the only answer possible, “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good enough.” A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth as he released her.

  The jerk. With just a few words, he had her body humming with arousal. As she considered kicking him, she caught a wink from Vance and a frown from her brother.

  Right. She turned and followed Leigh Anne into the kitchen. Feminist or not, a woman always offered her assistance to another woman, especially if needing to escape from the men. “Hey, can I help?”

  “Of course. How about you get the beer from the fridge while I open the wine.” She gave Sally a half smile. “Your father doesn’t believe in predinner conversation, so we’re skipping that part.”

  Just as well. She couldn’t think of anything to talk about anyway. Sally pulled out three beers for the men and one for herself. “Your children are adorable.”

  Leigh Anne’s powder-blue eyes danced with good humor. She was probably about Tate’s age, so several years older than Sally, and comfortable with herself. Her clothes fit her curvy body, and her makeup was muted. She wore a man’s watch on her wrist and hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. How could Sally not like her? “The munchkins might be adorable, but you can figure on being grilled tonight. They’re very curious about you.”

  “Ah, right.” The feeling is mutual. Like where did Tate find such a nice woman?

  Setting glasses on two trays, Leigh Anne gave her a perceptive smile. “Tate hopes you’ll stay for a bit after Hugh leaves. To talk and do some catching up.”

&
nbsp; “Ah…” Talk to Tate? That would be a first. As if he had ever wanted to talk with her… “I don’t think—”

  Out of her buried past, a memory bubbled to the surface. “Faster, horsy, faster.” Sally’d been perched on Tate’s shoulders, using his shaggy hair for reins. Squealing with laughter as he bounced her and trotted in circles.

  Shaken, she pulled in a slow breath. How had she forgotten that, at one time, he’d been her adored big brother, right up until her mother died? Her refusal trailed off, and she nodded instead.

  Leigh Anne’s smile turned full wattage. “Good. That’s good. Now we just have to survive a dinner with your crabby father.” She winked at Sally, picked up her tray, and led the way to the dining room.

  Her brother sat at one end of the table. Her father had the children beside him on one side; on the other, Vance and Galen had left a chair empty between them.

  Sally circled the long oval table, handing out the drinks on her tray.

  “Thank you.” Vance took his beer and said quietly, “You make a gorgeous barmaid. Z taught you well.”

  “Why, thank you.” She leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Trainees get to play after finishing their shift, right? Do I get a scene later?”

  “Oh yeah, sweetheart.” A crease appeared in his cheek, and his wicked gaze set her pulse to hammering. But when he added, “You have a lot to answer for, after all,” she almost dropped her tray.

  Seriously? They’d punish her, just because she disobeyed their order to stay in her room, left without permission, and forced them to track her down? Didn’t they have any sense of humor at all?

  Unfortunately, the threat had her libido sitting up like a well-trained poodle begging for treats. With an effort, she conjured an insulted scowl before escaping back into the kitchen.

  Once she and Leigh Anne had brought out milk for the children, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, rolls, corn, and a large salad, they took their seats. Tate offered a quiet prayer, which startled Sally. When her mother died, so had religion in their house.