“Anything new?” Kane asked, trying to sound casual as he popped another candy into his mouth and peered over Ian’s shoulder. It was an almost impossible task, however. Kane’s voice always sounded deep and powerful, even when he was asking inane questions in an attempt to distract his brother.
His little nephew Patrick toddled up to him and attached himself to Kane’s leg. Kane automatically extended his long arm, putting a few tiny pieces of soft chocolate candy into his chubby little hand.
“You know, Lexi’s going to kick your ass if she sees you doing that,” Ian chided.
Kane shrugged. “Only if you do it. I’m an uncle. I’m allowed.”
“They’re a choking hazard.”
Kane looked down and gave his two-year old nephew a stern look. “Chew. Don’t choke.”
“’K,” the little guy said, nodding soberly.
“Problem solved.”
Ian snorted. “I can’t wait till you have kids,” he mumbled.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. They didn’t call him the Iceman for nothing. He’d long since given up on the hope that someone would be willing to put in the effort it would take to get past all that.
It’s not like he tried to be that way. He just was. And most women – with the notable exceptions of his sisters-in-law – found him rather menacing. Well, except maybe for one little spitfire who looked at him with amused tolerance while he bled all over her, cussed her out and called her names.
Yeah. What woman wouldn’t find that enticing?
Ian sat back, stretching his arms above his head. “Storm’s stalling, not moving on as they predicted. Another eight inches of rain is expected. That’s not good, man. It’s going to be the worst flood this area’s seen in almost fifty years.”
Kane nodded. The hurricane had been the big news for the last three days. Seemed like he was watching a hell of a lot of TV these days. He had one in his cabin, too; he just rarely had the desire to use it.
“But you didn’t want to talk about the weather, did you?” Ian prompted knowingly.
Kane didn’t respond. He sat down in the chair next to Ian’s bank of computers and allowed Patrick to climb up onto his lap. Ian smiled at the picture of his son using Kane as a jungle gym, but Kane shot him a warning glance that had him wiping that smile right off his face and turning back to his screens. Recovering from an injury or not, Kane could still kick his ass, and Ian knew it.
“Someone knows who she is.”
“Yeah, no doubt,” Ian agreed. Over the past few months they’d tried to locate the woman who’d helped Kane, but with little success. Even Ian’s wicked digital skills had yielded few results. They had managed to learn that while the woman did travel with the Sisters of Mercy – she was not a card-carrying member of the Order. That little tidbit did wonders for assuaging some of Kane’s guilt over the less than pure thoughts he’d had about her.
Even though he managed to keep a tight lid on most of the conscious ones, his subconscious rebelled and punished him with vivid, intense scenarios during those few hours of sleep he managed to grab once in a while. It had become routine to wake up stiff and aching – not from his injuries – and feeling worse than ever.
Any recollections of the mystery woman they’d manage to obtain were vague at best. Since she had not been part of the organization in an official capacity, she was not part of any church or order records.
“Christ,” Kane muttered in frustration. “Terrorists aren’t as hard to track down.”
“Terrorists have agendas. Followers. Supporters. Financiers. They have patterns, leave crumbs.”
Apparently the same did not hold true for humanitarians who piggy-backed on Catholic Relief Services and the International Red Cross.
“What about the clean-up team?” Kane knew that Ian had managed to procure the names of those on site that day and had contacted each and every one of them, but hadn’t been able to gain any useful information. As a matter of course, the clean-up teams and the IRC often crossed paths, and Ian’s contacts had assured him that they would let him know if they came across her again. Ian had been cross referencing the databases, looking for match-ups, but so far, had no solid leads.
Ian shook his head. “Nothing new. They’ve had their hands full with all the crap going on over there. Best they can figure, she was trucked out with some of the relief workers.”
Kane’s expression didn’t change; he kept his frustration and disappointment under lockdown. Trying to get anything out of the bureaucrats at the Red Cross was next to impossible without a name; all they had to go on was a vague notion that she had been a part of the organization at one time.
“We’ll find her, Kane. You know I can’t walk away from a challenge.”