“Why not?”
Donovan took a deep breath. “I can’t turn my back on them any more than you could turn your back on TJ and little Duncan. Don’t you see?”
Silence. Then, “I do now. But it’s out of my hands.”
For a long minute Donovan just sat there.
“Like hell,” he muttered and started the car.
His GPS gave him the location of the San Diego FBI office. “They’d better be there,” he said to himself. Stepping on the gas, he gave one last look at the house Phyl had called home before she came to Texas. He realized how well it suited her. It was small, but big enough for the two of them. The outside was freshly painted and there were curtains in the windows. She’d made a life for herself and Mark with no help from anyone. She didn’t need him.
He didn’t care, he had to see her.
Forty-five minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a large white building not too far off Highway 805. The color blue shimmered in the early morning light, bouncing off the many-windowed building. The place was huge. How the hell would he find them?
He got out of the car, went to the entrance, walked through metal detectors. Several FBI agents were situated around the large entry.
One of them came up to him. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Phyllis Leander and her son, Mark. I believe they were brought in earlier.” If they weren’t, he didn’t know what he’d do. He only knew he wouldn’t go back without them.
“You are….?”
“Donovan Callahan,” he said. Realizing for the first time in months that he was a Callahan. And Callahans took care of family. “Phyl...Ms. Leander has been working on my ranch.”
“So you’re her employer.”
What could he say? “We’re...family.”
“I see. Take a seat. I’ll check.”
The agent went to a desk, lifted the phone, murmured into the receiver. Donovan moved to the window to look out. He’d give them another minute, then he was going to walk through those doors. If he had to search every room here, find them himself, he would.
Just as the minute was up, the man came toward him. “Come with me.”
Donovan was led down the hall where the agent opened a door and ushered him into a not too large room that held a six-foot oblong table. Four chairs sat around it. One wall was mirrored, the others a drab neutral color.
There had to be a microphone somewhere, but a quick scan didn’t show it.
Why the hell would they put him in an interrogation room?
Anger mixed with concern. He’d give them the benefit of the doubt. For now.
“Where are they?” he asked the stone-faced agent.
“Someone will be with you shortly,” he said, and shut the door.
What were they trying to pull?
They were giving him the runaround. They’d keep him here cooling his heels until they figured a way to get rid of him. It wouldn’t work.
Pacing the room, Donovan wondered if someone was watching behind the mirror. Didn’t matter. He had one objective: figure out a way to find Phyl and Mark, then get them home.
Just as he was about to storm out of the room, the door opened. Two FBI agents and a U.S. Marshal stepped in and shut the door.
Donovan’s chest tightened.
“Have a seat,” one of the agents said in a voice that brooked no argument.
They arranged three chairs on one side of the table.
“I’ll sit when you tell me where my family is, and why I can’t see them.”
“If you’ll take a seat, we’ll explain,” another agent said.
Donovan pulled out a chair, glared at the three men sitting opposite him. “Talk.”
“I’m Marshal Ted Young,” the Marshal said. “These are Special Agents Roberts and Wingate. And you are…?”
“Donovan Callahan. I’m here for my family.”
“They aren’t really your family, are they, Mr. Callahan?” Special Agent Roberts asked.
Donovan shot a go-to-hell-look at the tall, thin man. His perfectly fitted suit, black shiny shoes, and expertly cut brown hair didn’t impress Donovan in the least. “They’re family.”
“What’s your interest? We know our witness’s background so don’t try to snow us,” Roberts continued. “We know you’re not kin.”
Donovan wanted to deck the guy.
The agent leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. “What’s your position with the cartel?”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“You’re not family. You’re the oldest son of Nellie and Duncan Callahan. You live on the family ranch. You went to San Antonio almost two months ago, were a frequent customer in a bar that’s a known hangout for drug dealers. You searched all over town for a man who was knifed and killed by a known drug pusher.”
“What?” Donovan shot to his feet, his hands clenched into fists. “You pricks are out of your minds! What are you trying to pull?” If they knew that much about him, did they know it all?
“Who was Perkins? Why did you want to locate him? Did you pay to have him killed?”
The questions exploded in the room. Donovan slammed a hand on the table, felt the anger push through him. Anger he couldn’t control. But he couldn’t lose it. Not in front of these guys, they’d handcuff him and charge him with something. It wouldn’t matter whether he was innocent or guilty, they’d make their point.
He took a silent breath. At least they didn’t know everything. “Think what you want. I’m out of here.” He knocked his chair over when he strode toward the door.
Both FBI agents were on their feet and met him there. Each took an arm and duck walked him back to the table where the U.S. Marshal was righting the chair. “You’ll sit there until we’re done.”
“Bastards! I want my family. Now.”
“Calm down. We just need some information.”
“About drug dealers—a cartel? Whether I had a man killed or not? Forget it. I run a ranch. That’s it. End of story.”
“You sent the information on a flash drive to your brother-in-law, Maxwell Thomas.”
“I did. Thanks to him, Phyl and Mark are safe. They are safe, aren’t they?”
Glowering, he took the flash drive from his pocket, slammed it on the table.
Agent Roberts picked it up, handed it to his partner who left the room.
The Marshal sat there. Watching. Waiting.
“Stop playing games,” Donovan warned. “You know enough about me and my family to know the truth.”
“We do,” Roberts nodded.
“Your family, as you call them, can’t go back with you,” the Marshal said. “The FBI put a trace on Gutierrez’s phones. He wants Ms. Leander dead. Her ex husband cost him a lot of money, and he’s out for blood. Her life would be in extreme danger without protection.”
“I’ll protect her,” Donovan promised.
Marshal Young shook his head. “Impossible. You have to see this our way or you could lose them both.”
Donovan’s hands shook as he lifted them to his face, dropped his head.
“They’ll hire professional killers. You’d be no match at all.”
“My brother’s the sheriff.”
“We know about your brother. But unless he can put someone in your house 24/7, you have the same problem. No one can protect her like the Service can.”
Donovan lifted his head, stared at the men across from him. They were telling the truth. There was no way he could protect Phyl alone. Not even with Dugan’s help.
“Can I see them?” he asked, his throat so clogged he could barely speak.
Agent Roberts nodded to Young, who went to the door. A minute later it opened again. Mark flew toward him, jumped in his arms. Donovan’s relief was so profound he thought he might drop the boy. Instead, he held him tight. “Are you all right?”
Mark buried his head in Donovan’s shoulder, but he felt the kid nod.
“Where’s your mom?”
&n
bsp; “She’s looking at pictures and talking to some guy,” Mark said, raising his head. “I was so scared. So was Mom. But the Ninjas saved us. They were great. You should’ve seen them.”
“Ninjas? Are you sure?”
Mark nodded. “I want to go home.”
“We talked about this, Mark,” Agent Young said. “Now tell your friend goodbye. It won’t be for long.”
The door opened again and Phyl walked in.
She looked beautiful. Her hair was loose around her face, her eyes wide and questioning. But taking her home with him could put her in danger again. What if something like what they just went through happened again? What if she was killed?
He couldn’t do it.
She was too precious to him.
After giving Mark a final hug, he walked over to her. “Be careful, Phyl.”
With a heavy heart he left the room.
Chapter Fifteen
“I want to go home,” Mark wailed. “I want to see Donovan,” he cried when the SUV headed out I-5.
Donovan had come after her!
But he hadn’t said anything. When she’d walked in and seen him standing there with Mark in his arms, surrounded by FBI agents and the U.S. Marshal, she’d nearly gone dizzy with relief. But he’d barely spoken. It was as if he couldn’t wait to get out of there.
Mark was inconsolable, Phyl confused.
“Where are we going?”
The U.S. Marshals, Ted and Harry, who insisted she use their first names, had either been on their cell phones or had their eyes peeled for anyone who might follow them.
They seemed satisfied everything was okay.
She wasn’t. Neither was Mark.
Driving north, they left the freeway and climbed into the mountains.
“We’re taking you to a place you’ll be safe. A place we think you’ll like.”
“Where?”
“A ranch.”
“See, Mark, you’ll be riding a horse again soon.”
“Won’t be Lily,” he grumbled.
Finally, they drove through the gates of the Bar-One ranch.
Phyl was on the edge of her seat, taking it all in, Mark’s nose was glued to the window.
“It’s not as large as the Callahan spread,” Ted explained. “But you’ll like the Mackenzies. They’re good people. Years ago, Faith was a schoolteacher. She’s eager to tutor Mark. Ray is retired FBI.”
“Why would they be willing to let us come here and interrupt their lives?”
“They help us out on occasion. Actually, they sounded excited.”
It did seem a fair answer to their problem, Phyl thought, as they drove up the winding drive. Not as good as going back to Texas, of course. But did the Callahans even want her there? Donovan had been distant. Was he worried she would put the family in more danger? Though it broke her heart to think like this it made sense after everything that had happened.
After almost having sex at the homestead, she’d expected more. She shook her head. That’s what she got for having expectations. Seemed her expectations had always led her astray.
They pulled up to a two-story house. It wasn’t fancy. However, the well-tended flower beds, neat lawn and the scatter of fruit trees spoke volumes about the people who lived here. The place looked comfortable and homey. But it wasn’t home. She realized the only place that spelled home now was in the Texas Hill Country and it seemed farther away than ever. Donovan had said nothing about coming back to the ranch. Nellie had gone through so much because of Phyl’s problems that all of the Callahans were probably glad to see the last of her.
When Phyl stepped out of the SUV, the Mackenzies came to greet them. Both appeared to be in their sixties. Ray was tall, with gray hair and had a twinkle in his eyes. Faith, slim, dressed in jeans and Western shirt, reminded Phyl of Nellie.
“Welcome,” Ray said after they were introduced. “I hope the two of you will be comfortable here.”
Faith leaned over to talk to Mark. “I hear you’re in the first grade.”
He nodded.
“Do you like school?”
He nodded again. “I haven’t been in a while,” he said in a soft voice.
“You will again, I’m sure. In the meantime, we’re going to have a lot of fun.”
“Do you have horses?” he asked.
Ray chuckled. “Lots of them. Do you ride?”
“I rode Lily.”
“I think you’ll like Snowman. He’s just your size.”
“Snowman?”
“C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”
They headed toward the barn. Phyl turned to Ted and Harry. “Will you stay?” Did she need that much protection? It seemed so peaceful here. Certainly no one knew where they were. Then there was Ray, former FBI. He probably carried a gun everywhere, even here on the ranch.
“We’ll switch out. I’ll stay the first week, Harry the next.”
They weren’t taking any chances. Would she ever get used to having someone watching her every move? She didn’t think so.
Her gaze swept over what she could see of the ranch. There would be plenty to do here, if they’d let her. They had to. She would feel better if she worked.
Mark ran toward her with a mile-wide grin on his face.
“You gotta see, Mom! Snowman is beautiful. You know how he got his name? His hair is white as can be. So is his mama’s. Wait until you see. Mr. Ray says I can ride Snowman, and you can ride Snowflake. Isn’t that cool?”
At least Mark would be content. It was a beautiful place. She could see Donovan here with her—riding—working. She shook her head to erase the picture before she burst into tears.
The part of her heart that belonged to him, cried out to hear his voice, feel his touch. Mostly, to know his thoughts.
No matter how short her stay or how busy she kept herself, it would be too long. She had to see him. She had to see Nellie, and she had to know if the Callahans, especially Donovan, would have her back.
****
Donovan cursed himself a dozen times over. He should have insisted Phyl come home with him. But after being ganged up on by the FBI and a U.S. Marshal, he realized the danger. If he couldn’t keep them safe and something happened to either one of them, how would he be ever live with himself?
When Phyl had walked through that door and looked at him with those brown eyes shining, he’d gone weak in the knees. She was so wonderful, and he cared for her and Mark so much. How could he take the chance?
So, instead of grabbing her and running like he’d wanted to, he’d mumbled some nonsense and left.
He should have told her he wanted them to come home with him. Rubbing a hand over his face, he realized the reason he hadn’t. Seeing her safe had brought him close to tears and the words wouldn’t come.
She had to know how much she meant to him—how much both of them meant.
He’d get Max to find out where they were. He could at least talk to her.
The next plane for San Antonio didn’t leave for another hour. He made a few calls. Waited some more, finally landing in San Antonio in mid-afternoon. Instead of rushing back to the ranch, he had a couple of errands to take care of.
The first was to an address his investigator had given him.
Walking into the building, he asked the receptionist where he could find Cal. She looked up his name in a company directory. “Let me see if he’s working the first or second shift.” She checked, “You’re in luck,” she said, and made a quick call. “He’ll be here in a minute.”
Sure enough, a minute later, Cal walked in. He looked different. His face was wreathed in smiles, and there was a contented look in his eyes Donovan hadn’t seen much on the ranch.
“What are you doing here?” Cal asked.
Cal’s grin belied the hurt the episode at the ranch had caused. “I came to apologize. I was an ass, and had no right to say and do what I did.”
“No, you didn’t. But the more I thought about it, the more I understood why.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah?”
“You love Phyl. How else would you act if you thought someone was hurting her?”
Love? Was that what he felt?
Donovan threw an arm over the boy’s shoulder. “Show me what you do here, and how you like it.”
For the next thirty minutes, Donovan saw how a newspaper was put out, how much work went into it, and how much Cal loved his job.
“You’ve found your niche, Cal. Congratulations.”
“Would you tell Phyl? She worried about how long it would take to find what I wanted to do with my life. But this is it. I’m learning the business from the ground up. That’s the best way, Mr. Proctor says. He also said I have good potential.” He beamed at Donovan. “The boss is letting me go to school three days a week, and work three. It’s perfect. He says that the digital age is here, and he wants me to be at the forefront of it.”
They made their way to the reception area. “I have to get back to work, but I want an invite to the wedding.”
Donovan grinned, not sure how to answer. “I’ll be sure to tell Phyl your plans.”
Minutes later, he looked down at the address he’d written, and pointed the Jeep in that direction. It was time to do as Phyl had suggested.
He felt somewhat better as the door of the office building swished shut behind him. A team of licensed psychologists, who called themselves Anger Management Consultants, took up the entire second floor of the red brick building. Donovan’s appointment was with Rose Smith, a fifty-something woman with a pleasant face and a winning manner.
He found it easy to tell her about his paternity, the anger that exploded inside him when he learned the truth. He confessed that his anger had gotten to him at other times. One of the issues he had to settle before he and any woman could start their lives together.
The therapist talked with him for two hours. Actually, he did most of the talking. During that time, he came to the realization that though his anger had been justified, his reaction to it needed work.
After one session, he also realized that his paternity was a non-issue. Mark had taught him that much. With his dogged devotion and eagerness to learn, the boy reminded Donovan of his own relationship with his dad.
Promise Kept Page 14
