by Katie Reus
Which was why he hated coming here in the first place. He and his father did well enough if they didn’t have to talk to each other.
He parked in front of the small, one-story ranch house near where the foreman lived, and got out. He’d called ahead, and had been surprised when his father had said he was home.
Glancing up, he realized it would likely snow tonight. The scent of it was in the air. By the time he reached the front door, it’d swung open.
Wordlessly, his father stepped back and he stepped inside. Brooks hadn’t been out here since his father had moved in. He knew the foreman’s wife had kept this place up since it had remained empty for years. It looked mostly the same. Dark wood floors, ranch-themed decorations, and heavy leather furniture.
“Everything okay?” his dad asked, shutting the door behind him.
Brooks always felt awkward around his father. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. But I need to ask you for a favor.” Something he hated doing more than anything.
His father raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes showing surprise. “It must be something big. Because I know you wouldn’t be out here otherwise. Come on, get some coffee.”
Gritting his teeth, Brooks followed after him, his own cowboy boots thudding against the hardwood floor in tune with his father’s. He watched as his father started the Bunn. “So how are things with you and Martina?” There, he could be civil.
His father snorted and pulled down two coffee mugs. It didn’t matter that it was afternoon, coffee was what his father drank. Brooks too, if he was being honest. “She doesn’t give a shit about my money. And she wants me to be emotionally available.”
Now Brooks snorted and sat down at the center island. “I hear she’s been spending time with Colt’s dad,” Brooks said, mainly to be an asshole. Though it was true. But Brooks was pretty sure Martina and Colt Senior—aka Senior—were just friends.
“You really want to bring that up when you’re asking me for a favor?” His father’s voice was dry as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.
From the time Brooks was about twelve, people had commented on how much the two of them looked alike. Nope, there would never be any denying that the two of them were related. Dark hair, dark eyes, and according to Olivia, he was “Hollywood handsome.” Brooks wished that she was the only one who ever said that to him. He lifted a shoulder at his father’s question and couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at his lips. “Just seems ironic that after all these years, the first woman you really like can’t be bought.”
Okay, he was definitely into asshole territory but he didn’t much care. His father was going to do the favor no matter what he said. And Brooks needed to get some stuff off his chest.
“I deserved that,” his father finally said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better father. Or a better man.”
Brooks stared at him in stunned silence. He’d just meant to poke him a little—he hadn’t been expecting this. “Why now? Why are you here, trying to…whatever you’re trying to do between us?”
“I would like to have a relationship with you. I know that might not be possible. When your mom died—”
“Nope. We’re not doing this.” He simply couldn’t deal with it. Brooks might have wanted to get some stuff off his chest but he didn’t want to talk about his mother. It was time to get down to the reason he’d come here in the first place. “Do you know a man named Semyon Markov?”
His father nodded slowly. “Yes. I don’t do business with him.”
“Why not?” The reason was important to Brooks.
“I don’t trust him. I’ve heard rumors he’s embedded with Alexei Kuznetsov—and I definitely don’t trust him. And before you ask why, he’s into running drugs, people, nasty shit. He’s not a good man. And I’m not saying that I am, but my business is all legal. Mostly.” His lips curved up slightly at the last word.
“Will you reach out to Markov anyway? Make it look by chance? Don’t push him to do business, just…”
“What?”
Brooks weighed his options. It did him no good to keep this from his father. It would be better if he knew everything going into this. “Darcy’s sister is getting married to his son. Darcy’s planning their wedding. She overheard something she shouldn’t have. No one knows that she did. We want to get into Semyon Markov’s house. The wedding is at his estate.”
“So you want me to get an invitation to his house?”
“Yes. For the wedding or before. During the wedding would be ideal, though I guarantee security will be hyped up then, so maybe before.” And the wedding was soon.
“Is Darcy planning Savage and Olivia’s wedding?”
“Yes.”
He nodded once. “I can do it.”
All right, then. “How will you reach out to him?”
His father paused, thinking. “Do you have a schedule? If not, I can have one of my assistants look into the man.”
Even though his father claimed that he’d retired, he still had a hand in multiple businesses and relied on a few assistants. Though one in particular had been with him for decades. Brooks actually liked Roger. “No. The fewer people who know about this, the better. I’ll get his schedule.”
“You mean Gage will.”
Brooks half-smiled. “Exactly.”
“So have you and Darcy made up?”
He definitely didn’t want to talk about this with his father. Especially since he was the one who had offered her a couple million to walk away from him. But his father hadn’t been the one who’d treated her like garbage. Well, he had, but it was different. “No.”
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t care what I have to say.”
“How did you end things with her?”
“Not well.” And he regretted it deeply.
“So what have you done since you found out you were wrong to make it up to her?”
Brooks shrugged awkwardly. Nope. Not having this conversation either. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Just don’t give her gifts or bullshit like that. That’s the kind of stuff the old me would have done. Don’t follow in my footsteps.”
Brooks paused, digesting his father’s words. “I sent her flowers.”
“Ah.”
“Did you ever apologize to her?” He’d never asked his father. Never talked to him about Darcy after that day he’d learned the truth. Because that was their MO. They buried shit deep and never talked about it again. The cowboy way.
“Yes. In person.”
“When?”
“Right after our conversation in your office, around Thanksgiving.”
Hell. His father certainly hadn’t wasted time—unlike Brooks. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Darcy hadn’t told him his father had come by. Not that Brooks would have expected her to. She hadn’t wanted to exchange two words with him. It had been clear she’d just wanted him out of her space. “Did she accept it?”
“More or less. Called me a couple names. She’s…feisty. And real.” There was a note in his father’s voice Brooks couldn’t read. Respect, maybe.
And despite his personal vow to keep all the past between them buried, he found himself asking, “Was my mother ‘real’?”
“Yes. She was the most authentic woman I’ve ever met. When she died…something in me died. Or I thought it did. I went down a dark hole. One I never really climbed out of. Not until recently. Last year, I came home to find Claire screwing some guy. Our pool guy, maybe.” He let out a derisive snort as he shook his head. “It was so clichéd. I didn’t care. As I walked out of our bedroom, I saw myself in the mirror in the hallway and I didn’t like what I saw. I knew your mother wouldn’t have liked me—no, she would have loathed me.”
Brooks remained still and silent as his father took a sip of coffee. Part of him wanted to get up and walk out, but his father almost never talked about his mother. He’d gleaned some information about her over the years, mostly from letters he’d found
between his father and her, and from pictures. But pictures only told a certain story. The old foreman, Terry, had told Brooks stories before he’d retired. Stories Brooks had been sure were lies to make a young boy happy. Or at least exaggerations. Because he couldn’t reconcile the stories with the man he knew as a father. Maybe there’d been some truth in them after all.
“Your mother was…wonderful.” His father’s eyes looked surprisingly glassy.
Brooks looked away.
“She would have been pissed I let you join the Marines. Well, pissed and proud.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me,” Brooks said quietly.
“I know. She wouldn’t have wanted to either. But you would have been her baby forever.”
“Why did you never talk about her before?” Brooks had to know. Because growing up, his father had said almost zero about her.
“It hurt too much.” His father turned away then, his back ramrod straight. “When she died, I wished it had been me. She would have been a whole lot better at parenting. Would have known how to be a parent. Truth be told, the only reason I didn’t put a bullet in my head back then was because of you.”
Brooks straightened as he digested the words. This was… What?
Clearing his throat, his father turned back to him. “I made a lot of mistakes with you. A lot of mistakes in general. I’m sorry. I should have been a better father. I should have been there for you. Instead, I drowned myself in my own pain. In women who could never, ever hope to compete with the memory of your mother. I disrespected her memory and I…I’m afraid I’ve ruined things with you and me beyond repair.”
“You haven’t.” The words were out before Brooks could think about them. For so long he’d thought he’d hated his father. But the last couple months had shown him a different side to the man.
His father straightened a little, looking surprised.
Yeah, well, Brooks was surprised too. “I’m not saying…” He didn’t know how to finish. Because he hadn’t forgiven his father for everything. “You were a shitty parent. But you gave me more than most kids could dream of. I had everything I could need.” Everything except a present parent. But Brooks was pragmatic enough to understand that he’d had a hell of a privileged life. Still did.
“Not everything.”
Brooks didn’t respond. Wasn’t sure he knew how at this point. For the first time…ever, he wondered if he maybe had a chance at a relationship with his father. Standing, he cleared his throat. “I’ve got to go. Got some stuff to take care of.” Namely, breaking into Detective Turner’s house.
His father nodded, then blurted, “I’ve been in therapy.”
“What?” Since Thanksgiving of last year, Brooks had felt as if he’d stepped into an alternate reality. Now he was certain of it—because his father thought any type of psychology was “jackassery” and that “shrinks” were overpaid assholes.
“Yep. Have been since before the divorce. I might have been wrong about shrinks.” His father grunted. “One of them anyway.”
“Okay, then.” Brooks definitely did not know what to say to that. “Call me if you make contact with Markov.”
His father looked as if he wanted to say more, but simply nodded.
Brooks left, wondering what the hell had just happened. Maybe in this alternate reality he had a shot with Darcy. A chance to fix the past—and claim the woman he’d never stopped loving.
Chapter 8
—Keep the faith. Things will get better.—
Brooks slid into one of the only open booths at his friend Mercer Jackson’s pizza joint. Mercer had played in the NFL years ago, but retired so he and his wife—Mary Grace, the love of Mercer’s life and also a kick-ass doctor—could start a family. Now Mercer had everything he’d ever wanted: married to his childhood sweetheart; a sweet baby girl; and a home in the place they’d grown up in.
Mercer sat in the booth opposite him, his smile easy and relaxed. “Hey man, what’re you doing here in the middle of the week?”
“I’m headed back to the office, but thought I’d stop by and say hey.” And also, he was ninety-nine percent sure he’d been followed. Not by a pro, that was for certain. He’d noticed a red car—red!—tailing him not long after he’d left the ranch. So instead of heading to the warehouse they’d converted into their office building, he’d come to see Mercer. Mercer wasn’t part of the consulting business, but he was family in all the ways that counted.
“Hmm. What’s up? You seem weird today.”
“You can’t ever let anything go, huh?” Brooks muttered.
Leaning back, Mercer stretched an arm out on the seat, practically taking up the whole damn bench as he watched Brooks thoughtfully. “You’re at my restaurant. So no.”
Out of the “original seven,” as Brooks sometimes thought of them, Mercer had always been the “dad” of the group. He had his shit together. Hell, he’d known he was going to marry Mary Grace when he was about fifteen. And he’d made sure everyone else knew it too. “It’s just been a weird day, that’s all.”
“Weird as in your ex-girlfriend is planning Savage’s wedding?” Mercer grinned at Brooks’s no doubt surprised expression. “Gage told me.”
“Not that kind of weird. I… My dad just told me a bunch of shit. Even talked about my mom.”
Mercer’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. I don’t want to talk about it. Also, I’m pretty sure I was followed here. Don’t make it obvious, but about four booths behind me.” And way out of earshot. “Single woman, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. Sitting solo.” He hadn’t looked at her directly when she’d come in, but she had on jeans, boots, a button-down flannel shirt under her thick jacket. The jacket was puffy and she might be hiding a weapon under it, but there was no way to tell. She looked young, too, like she should be in college. And pretty small under that big jacket. He didn’t consider her a real threat to his safety though.
“Think it’s related to a job?”
“I don’t know.” Mercer and Mary Grace didn’t work with them, but they knew the full extent of what went on at Redemption Harbor Consulting. “Skye and Colt are out of town on a job, and the one we’re working on…I don’t know.”
“You want me to snap a picture of her?”
Brooks gave him a get real look, because he’d already taken a few of her with his own phone. And he’d be sure to check out her license plate when he left. “I’ve seen her before. I didn’t realize it at first but I saw her over Christmas when I was out buying presents.” He was good with faces, and for some reason, seeing her walk into the restaurant had triggered the memory of seeing her back during the holidays. The only reason he remembered was because she’d looked at him as if she knew him, almost like she wanted to talk to him. Then she’d gotten a scared rabbit look on her face and disappeared among a bunch of shoppers and he’d never seen her again. Not until today.
“Could be a coincidence. Redemption Harbor is a decent-sized place.”
“I know.” But he didn’t think so. He always trusted his gut. “How’s the baby?”
“Perfect.” Mercer grinned, always the proud parent. “So you gonna order anything or did you just come by to take up one of my tables during my busiest time?”
He placed a hand over his heart. “That’s cold, man.”
His friend shrugged. “I’ve got another mouth to feed now.”
Brooks grinned. “I’ll take a couple pizzas to go. And a Greek salad.” He planned to bring them to the office for those still in town. Nova—their new admin assistant—wasn’t a huge fan of pizza, but she did love the salads here.
“Only two?”
“Skye’s out of town.” That woman ate more than any of them. Of course, she also ran ten miles every morning. For fun.
Mercer laughed lightly. “All right.” Standing, he patted Brooks on the shoulder once. “Everything will work itself out. Have faith.”
This right here was why he’d really come to see Mercer. He could easi
ly have lost his tail. And he would when he left here. He’d just wanted to see his friend. Mercer always knew what to say. Even if it wasn’t true, because right about now, Brooks wasn’t sure how anything was going to work out. Not with Darcy anyway.
But he’d damn sure make certain she was safe. In just a couple hours he planned to break into Detective Turner’s house and find any potential evidence against him. Even if he didn’t find anything, Brooks would be planting listening devices inside—top of the line. They’d be keeping an eye on this man no matter what.
When he was done there, he was going to see Darcy. Because he couldn’t stay away any longer.
* * *
“You’re sure the security system is disabled?” Brooks asked through his earpiece. Plastered against the back wall of Detective Turner’s house, he already knew the answer but still wanted to double-check before he made his next move. A civilian security system was no match for Gage’s hacking skills.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” There was a bit of derision in Gage’s voice.
It was an hour after dark, and most people would be sitting down to dinner or doing homework with their kids or whatever the hell people with families did. He would have preferred to break in at three in the morning, but this was second-best only because they knew Turner was at work. “Just checking. It’s my ass on the line.”
Gage snorted. “Seriously, like you can’t take him out if he comes home early?”
Okay, that was fair. The Marine Corps had spent a lot of money making sure he knew how to be invisible and kill. But the whole point of this mission was to get in and out completely undetected, and with no collateral damage. No one could know he’d been here. If Turner got on to the fact that someone was looking into him, he’d report it to Polzin or Markov. Right now, they had the element of surprise in that they knew Markov was up to something. Brooks wanted to keep it that way.
Gage had offered to do the break-in, but Brooks had insisted. This job was personal for him. And he didn’t care that it was. Not that he doubted Gage’s abilities, but whatever. He was doing this. The fact that Darcy had overheard those guys talking, had been in Markov’s house, been in danger… No, this was on Brooks. She might not want to talk to him, but he was still going to protect her any way he could.
