by Laina Kenney
Locke had a bullet burn across the side of one eyebrow and up onto his temple and a thin knife scar on his chin, and there were more scars. Each individual mark represented a moment of danger, a narrow escape. His scars said that he was damn lucky to be alive, and he knew it.
He had a horrible thought. “What if she cries?”
Grange’s hard mouth kicked up in a rare smile. “Don’t even try to tell me that one of DIG Security’s best agents is afraid of a girl who could cry. I might laugh out loud, and if anyone heard me, it would ruin my reputation.”
“Very funny. You’re a real comedian lately.”
Locke frowned at the amusement on his boss’s face. He opened his mouth to continue the protest, but Grange held up a hand.
“Locke, if you’re that worried about the girl’s reaction, take your big brother with you. Women of all ages respond to Sam very well from what I’ve seen.”
Locke snorted. What a hell of an understatement that was. No matter where they went, women followed his brother around. Locke and Sam were identical twins, but they couldn’t be more different, starting with the fact that Locke was a security specialist and Sam was a successful stage actor and aspiring playwright. Locke had been a bull rider who had followed the rodeo circuit for several years, and Sam wouldn’t even watch bull-riding events from the safety of the stands. Sam’s face was still smooth, handsome, and unscarred. Locke was scarred on the outside and cynical on the inside.
Hell, Sam had even dyed his brown hair to blond once for a part in an ongoing series of commercials. Locke couldn’t be bothered to get his hair cut at regular intervals. He ran a hand through it, tugging the longish strands, testing. Nah, it could go another week.
“Her name is Avelyn Reilly,” Grange said. “She has reddish-brown hair, green eyes, and she’s on the small side. There’s a family resemblance, so you shouldn’t have too much trouble recognizing her. Conn used to call her a bad-tempered pixie. And she’s landing in Dallas at two this afternoon, so you’ll have to get on the road soon.”
“Dallas? What, she couldn’t get a connector flight to San Antonio? Not even a charter? I could get from our building to the airport here in fifteen minutes.”
“She’s traveling under her own passport, her own name. There just wasn’t time for anything fancy.” Grange gave him a look that said he should damned well know that.
“Dallas is a big place,” Grange continued. He leaned back in his chair. “A person could disappear there easily enough. We don’t know yet how serious the situation is, but if the girl is traced, Conn wants her trail to end in Dallas not San Antonio. Best case, no one cares enough to follow the girl across the ocean. Worst case, this will buy her some time while we figure out what the hell is going on and how serious our response needs to be.”
Locke thought that any response from Conn on a threat to his niece would be serious no matter the circumstance. When any woman was in trouble, the big bastard solved the problem first and asked questions later if he asked them at all. Many of the DIG agents were alike in that respect. But family was another matter.
“Dallas it is, then.” Locke looked at his watch and grimaced. “Shit, you do believe in cutting it fine, boss. If I get on the road right now and pick up Sam on the way out of the city, I could almost make it in time.” He breathed deeply. “All right, I’ll call Sam, and we’ll head for Dallas. You win.”
“Thanks. I like to win. Take Sam’s car. That thing of beauty is faster than your old pickup truck. And it doesn’t have manure on it.”
“I washed my truck,” Locke said before he caught sight of Grange’s expression.
“Smug bastard,” Locke muttered and scowled as he walked out the door.
Grange laughed.
Chapter 3
Avelyn huddled in her seat on the plane, still wrapped in the gray wool shawl. New York had been rainy, but the sun was shining in Dallas, and it made her feel warm inside for the first time in two days. She folded the old shawl and threaded it through the handle of her leather bag.
Avelyn waited until most of the other passengers had left the plane before slowly getting to her feet.
She almost groaned aloud at the pain of her abused muscles, but she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself. She already had a swollen, bruised cheek and looked like the wrong end of a pub crawl. The cut under the edge of her jaw was covered with a flesh-colored bandage from the small first-aid kit now stored in her bulging leather bag. There would be enough attention aimed her way because of those injuries without adding to it by complaining.
She had braided her hair, cleaned her teeth, and gingerly applied some makeup to the glaring purple bruises in the plane’s tiny washroom, but she still felt self-conscious.
Her life had altered in a day. After hearing her father’s odd message on her voice mail, she had grabbed a glass of milk instead of dinner and traveled over three hours from her flat in London to see her father in Dublin.
Add to that a further fourteen hours of travel in the same damp, stained clothes to arrive in Dallas, Texas on a plane full of well-dressed, well-fed Americans, and she was feeling grubby and out of sorts.
The snack food served on the transatlantic flight had been long ago and inadequate to satisfy her appetite. Her stomach growled all the way down the concourse and through the customs station lineup, but she didn’t have any American currency, and she didn’t think she would be able to use a credit card to buy a bottle of fruit juice.
After a lengthy interview with two security agents due to her facial bruising and suspicious lack of checked baggage, she finally exited customs and walked through the sliding glass doors and into the bright pickup area.
By now she was suffering the deep cramps of true hunger and hoped that Uncle Conn was waiting. With his towering height and his auburn hair, he should be easy enough to spot, and the man always had some kind of snack food in his pockets.
She scanned the shifting crowd but couldn’t see him. What she did see was a sign with Conn Reilly’s name, carried by a pair of gorgeous cowboys in blue jeans, boots, and those attractive black hats. What were they called, Stetsons? Yum.
She was halfway down the concourse before she realized that she was moving.
As she got closer, she noticed that the two cowboys were brothers, maybe even twins, and that the group surrounding them consisted entirely of women in high heels, short skirts, and rolling designer luggage.
Avelyn frowned. The women seemed to have lost all interest in leaving the airport. They were much more focused on attracting the attention of the two tall and tanned cowboys.
She couldn’t blame the women. Long, lean, and muscular, the men were eye-catching. The true American Dream in the flesh. But the fact that they were carrying that sign meant that they were waiting for her and her alone. Both of them.
Too bad, ladies.
Avelyn smiled for the first time in what felt like days. Feeling the light of mischief in her soul, she slipped her heavy Celtic gold ring off her right hand onto her left-hand ring finger and affected a smooth hip-swiveling walk.
She walked right up to the cowboy holding the sign and handed him her bag with a saucy smile. His blue eyes narrowed and raked down her body. She turned to the second cowboy, rose on tiptoe, and pulled his head down to kiss his startled mouth.
He recovered quickly, snaking one strong arm around her waist and pulling her closer to take control of the kiss. He slanted his lips over hers and possessed her mouth with slow, intimate strokes of his tongue on hers. The sweet flood of arousal dampening her core was unexpected. This cowboy packed a punch.
The world spun as she was tugged out of his arms and into the arms of his brother. He bent her over his muscular arm and fastened his mouth on hers while his other hand slid into her hair. The taste of him was hotter, spicier somehow, and she felt her nipples peak in a tingling rush. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection against her belly, and she couldn’t resist the urge to nudge against it.
> His tongue thrust into her mouth over and over, a blatant sexual act that sent her blood singing through her veins. Her bones felt like they were melting, and she sagged, letting him support her weight while he plundered her mouth in heated silence.
After a thorough exploration, he pulled back a little to brush his lips over her mouth and cheek.
She took in a dizzy breath flavored with his clean, masculine scent. His eyes burned into hers for a long moment before he gently righted her. Her pussy throbbed once, and she almost sighed at the loss of his warmth on her aching breasts.
It occurred to her pleasure-fogged mind they were still in the airport in the midst of a group of gaping women.
“Hi, honeys, I’m home.” Her voice was undeniably husky. “Congratulate me, boys. I just won the ladies boxing title.”
The crowd of women took one look at her bruised face scattered in record time.
The intense cowboy let her go with a frown when the other one pulled her close to his side and laughed. He hugged her gently, laughing again when her stomach growled.
“I’m Sam McCann,” the laughing one said, “and this is my brother Locke. That was great. You are something else, girl.” His tone was appreciative, his gaze admiring until it settled on her swollen cheek and froze there.
“Your Uncle Conn sent us to pick you up, Avelyn,” the other cowboy, Locke, said. “From the sound of things, we’d better buy you a late lunch before we leave Dallas. Airplane food is awful, no doubt about it.”
Avelyn felt her face flush, but she didn’t offer any objection. She was hungry. There was no denying that. Her body had just announced it loud and clear.
She turned to Locke, and her eyes settled on the scar above his eyebrow. There was another long thin scar on his jaw. The obvious scars weren’t enough to detract from the appeal of his movie-star face. If anything, they added a sort of rakish charm and made him look like a man who would fight for what he believed in. The world needed more of that kind of man.
“No luggage, huh?” Sam asked.
She shook her head no, still looking at Locke.
“You must have been in a real hurry to leave Ireland. I’ve never seen a woman who traveled without at least a change of clothes,” Sam said.
Avelyn cringed in embarrassment. She knew her clothes were a mess. She would never travel like this except under dire circumstances. She switched her heavy ring back to the correct finger and turned it around and around. It was a soothing habit, and she was in need of some comfort, however small.
“We’ll take you shopping before we leave Dallas,” Sam offered.
Her stomach grumbled.
“After a snack,” he added.
Gentle fingers tilted her face up for Locke’s inspection, and his mouth hardened into a thin line. “You didn’t get this bruise from another lady, little one. Half your face is purple under all that makeup. Does your Uncle Conn know who did this, and is the guy still breathing?”
Avelyn pulled away. “He’s still breathing, as far as I know.”
Her voice was cool, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to answer his questions.
Holding her gaze, Locke pulled out his cell phone and hit a button.
“Yeah, Grange, we’ve made the pickup at Dallas. Let Conn know. No, she didn’t bring a suitcase, just some kind of really big purse. Sam and I are taking her out to grab a bite then back to the office for medical assessment and debriefing.”
He paused a moment listening to the person on the other end of the call.
“Yeah, well, she’s pale, and her face is bruised. There’s a bandage under her ear. Her movements are a bit stiff, but she’s got a streak of sass. She’s okay, or she will be.”
Avelyn liked his choice of words. From a man like this, who didn’t seem to care much what anyone thought, it was nearly a compliment.
He listened on the phone for a minute more then looked away from her. “Ask me that later,” he muttered. “Bye.”
Sam touched her arm to move her to the side of the concourse out of the way of the other passengers, and she flinched. She couldn’t help it. Sam had his hand right on the bruise where the other man’s hand had been.
“She has other injuries we can’t see,” Sam said quietly. He and his brother shared a look, and then they were hustling her out of the building and toward a parked car. It looked like a racecar, shiny black and low to the ground, with a silver stripe down the side.
At the car, Sam climbed in the back seat with Avelyn, and Locke slid behind the wheel. When they pulled out and started driving, she was fascinated by the purr of the engine and vaguely alarmed by the fact that he was driving on the opposite side of the road. Getting used to that difference would take some time.
Sam rummaged around in the seat pouch and produced a tube of ointment. He handed the tube to Avelyn.
“Arnica,” he said.
The word meant nothing to her, and she waited, watching his face.
“It’s for your cheek and under your eye. It’ll help the bruising. I’ve used it before, and Locke used arnica or horse liniment all the time after his rodeo competitions. He always had a bruise somewhere. It really works.” His earnest expression and wide navy-blue eyes made a pretty picture, but she wasn’t falling for it.
Locke used horse liniment on himself? Avelyn shook her head. Even that small motion hurt.
“It was agony to put makeup on my cheek,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’m not touching it again.”
“That’s okay, I’ll do it for you, sweetheart. I’ll be so gentle it’ll feel like a butterfly’s wings.”
He gave her a soft, coaxing smile. Oh, he was a charmer. And she already found him attractive. She would have to be careful, or he’d talk her out of her clothes in no time.
“No, thank you,” she said firmly. Her cheek was already throbbing. Touching it would only make it worse. She would manage without his help.
The car made a sharp sideways move, and they were off the road and in a huge parking lot and driving up a narrow lane to stop at a tall post behind a line of other cars.
Avelyn watched in fascination as Locke rolled down his window and rattled off an incomprehensible series of instructions. When he was finished, a disembodied voice said, “Drive through, please.”
They rolled to a stop beside a small window, and Locke exchanged cash for two big bags and a tray of drinks. Whatever it was in those bags smelled heavenly in the confines of the car, and her mouth began to water.
Locke deposited it all on the passenger seat and drove down the road for a few blocks until he came to a small park bench in the shade of a towering oak.
Sam helped Avelyn out of the car, and Locke carried the drinks and the bags. They sat on the bench with Avelyn in the middle, and Locke started handing out food.
“Chips!” Avelyn exclaimed and started gobbling down the hot, salty deep-fried potatoes from the small red box.
“That’s so British. Calling them chips, I mean,” Sam said, and his smile was indulgent. “We call them fries here.”
“Mmm. Fries,” she said and stuffed more into her mouth. She knew the men were watching, she could feel their eyes on her, but for once she didn’t care. There was no time to worry about manners. She was starved!
Locke passed her a tall drink, and she gulped some liquid through the big straw before returning her attention to the chips—no, fries. Locke handed her another box, and when she opened it, she found a double-decker hamburger with pickles, lettuce, and a creamy sauce. She devoured that as well then licked the salt and sauce off her fingers. She finished it off by draining the last gurgle of the soft drink and then stuffing the waste papers into the empty drink container.
She finally looked up to see both men, their food still wrapped, watching her with two pairs of intense blue eyes.
Oh.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I’ve been traveling for a long time, you know.”
Locke passe
d her his box of fries, and Sam handed over a small rectangular apple pie. She tried to protest, but the men pushed the extra food into her hands.
“I wouldn’t feel like much of a man if I ate while you sat there hungry,” Locke said quietly. “You just keep eating until you feel satisfied, honey, and don’t worry about good manners. Sam and I grew up poor, and with five boys in the house, we were hungry as often as not. We both know what that feels like.”
Sam nodded once but said nothing.
Avelyn swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. They weren’t blaming her. Her anxiety faded even as her eyes prickled at their understanding. She ate everything they gave her until her stomach was pleasantly full.
Sam produced a bottle and shook out two little pills.
“Light painkillers,” he said. “You can get them over the counter. No prescription required.”
“Thank you,” she said and swallowed them with the last of Locke’s drink. She had taken some aspirin provided by a flight attendant on the flight out of Dublin several hours ago but hadn’t taken anything since, and she was aching from head to toe.
This time when they got into the sleek little car, Avelyn was the sole occupant of the back seat. The adrenaline that had kept her moving was evaporating, and true exhaustion was creeping in. She wrapped the old shawl around her shoulders in spite of the heat and let her eyelids fall. It was good to be warm and well fed.
After a few minutes, the men started talking.
“Is she asleep?” The slightly darker voice was Locke.
“Yeah, or as good as. Did you see how she ate? She was running on empty. She must not have eaten at all today. She’s small already. She can’t afford to do that.”
“When we get to San Antonio, we’ll get her checked out by a doctor.”
“Do you think she should talk to a female doctor or maybe that medic at D.I.G.? What’s her name, the older lady? Maybe…” Sam’s voice trailed away.
The response was a snarl like an angry dog. “I’d like to get my hands on the bastard who put marks on that milk-white skin. She’s such a little thing. When Conn sees those bruises on her face, he’s going to walk out and commit murder.”
