The Call of Bravery

CHAPTER TWO



HENDERSON HAD BEEN gaping, too, but he managed to snap out of it and offer his hand. They shook. Conall offered his badge instead of his hand. He didn’t dare touch her.

She examined it briefly, then glanced at their duffel bags. “That’s all you have?”

“We have more stuff in the car. We thought we’d find out where we’re to set up first.”

She looked past them to the gray Suburban. “At least you don’t have one of those government cars. That would have given you away in a heartbeat.”

Jeff’s face relaxed into a smile. “True enough, ma’am.”

“No ma’am.” She moved back to let them in. “I’m not old enough to be a ma’am. Call me Lia.”

Lia Woods. That was her name. Was Lia Hispanic? Only partly, he thought, given the delicious pale cream of her skin where it wasn’t tanned, as her face and forearms were. And her eyes were a remarkable color.

“Lia,” he said politely.

“This is Sorrel,” she said, “my foster daughter.”

The girl was pretty, in an unfinished way. Skinny but also buxom. She had her arms crossed over her breasts as if she was trying to hide them. Blond hair was pixy-short, her eyes blue and bottomless, her mouth pouty. Blushing, she mumbled, “Hello,” but Conall had the impression she hadn’t decided how she felt about their presence.

They stood in a foyer from which a staircase rose to the second floor. The television was on in a room to his right. He could see the flickering screen from here. To the left seemed to be a dining room; a high chair was visible at one end of a long table.

Lia crossed her arms, looking from one to the other of them. “You understand that I have a number of foster children.”

“Yes.”

Both nodded.

“The two little ones are currently asleep. Chances are you won’t see much of them. Julia is a baby, and Arturo a toddler.” She pronounced Julia the Spanish way.

They both nodded again. Sorrel watched them without expression.

“Let me take you on a quick tour and introduce you to the other kids.” Lia led the way into the living room, where two boys sat on the sofa watching TV.

The room was set up to be kid-friendly, the furniture big, comfortable, sturdy. The coffee table had rounded corners. Bookcases protected their contents with paneled doors on the bottom and glass-fronted ones on top. Some baby paraphernalia sat around, but Conall didn’t see much in the way of toys. Did she let the kids watch television all day?

“Walker,” she said in a gentle voice. “Brendan. Would you please pause your movie?”

One of them fumbled for the remote. Then they both gazed at the men. They had to be the two saddest looking kids he’d ever seen. Grief and hopelessness clung to them like the scent of tobacco on a smoker. Their eyes held…nothing. Not even interest.

They were trying damned hard to shut down all emotional content. He recognized the process, having gone through it. He didn’t know whether to wish them well with it, or hope someone, or something, intervened.

His child specialist was staring at them with something akin to horror and was being useless. Somebody had to say something.

Apparently, that would be him. “Walker. Brendan. My name is Conall. This is Jeff.”

After a significant pause, one of the boys recalled his manners enough to say, “Hi.”

“I know we’ll be seeing you around,” Conall said awkwardly.

The same boy nodded. He was the older of the two, Con realized, although they looked so much alike they had to be brothers.

Lia guided the two men out of the living room. Behind them the movie resumed.

She hustled them through the dining room and showed them the kitchen.

“I serve the kids three meals a day and can include you in any or all of those,” she told them. “If you’d rather make your own breakfasts or lunches, just let me know in advance and help yourself to anything you can find.”

She didn’t say whether those meals would be sugary cereals and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Right this minute, Conall didn’t care. He kept his voice low. “What’s with the boys?”

Her glance was cool. “Their mother died five days ago. She had adult-onset leukemia. Six weeks ago, she was healthy. She went downhill really fast.”

“They don’t have other family?” Jeff asked.

“No. The boys barely remember their father, who abandoned them a long time ago. If there are grandparents or other relatives on that side, no one knows anything about them. The boys’ mother grew up in foster care.”

“So now they will, too.” Conall wasn’t naive; in his line of work, he didn’t deal much with kids, but sometimes there were ones living in houses where he made busts. He’d undoubtedly been responsible for sending some into foster care himself. He’d never had to live with any of those children before, though.

“Yes,” she said. “Unless they’re fortunate enough to be adopted.”

He didn’t have to read her tone to know how unlikely that was, especially with the boys as withdrawn as they were. And being a pair besides. Or would they end up separated? That was an idea that he instinctively rebelled against.

He and Henderson both were quiet as she showed them a home office on the ground floor, and opened the door to a large bathroom and, at the back of the house, a glassed-in porch that was now a laundry slash mud room.

“You can do your own laundry, or toss your clothes in the hamper and I’ll add them to any loads I put in.”

They nodded acknowledgement.

Upstairs was another bathroom and bedrooms. Hers, one with a closed door that was apparently where the little kids slept, a room shared by the boys, and a smaller one that was obviously the teenager’s. It was little larger than a walk-in closet; maybe originally intended to be a sewing room or nursery?

“Sorrel understands that the attic is off-limits,” Lia said, her tone pleasant but steel underlying it. The teenager looked sulky but ducked into her bedroom as Lia led the way to the door at the end of the hall. Like all the others in the house, it had an old-fashioned brass knob. It also had an ancient keyed lock with no key in it.

Behind it was a staircase steep enough Conall wouldn’t have wanted to navigate it after a few beers. Lia’s hips swayed seductively at his eye level as she preceded him up.

Don’t look.

He couldn’t not.

It was a relief to have her stand aside at the top, where a huge open space was poorly lit by only four, smallish dormer windows. The dormers would allow them to stand upright in front of the windows, but the men especially would have to duck their heads in much of the rest of the space.

“Yesterday I washed those windows on the inside.” Lia sounded apologetic. “I can’t even get my hose to squirt that high on the outside.”

The two light fixtures up here didn’t do much to illuminate the attic, especially around the edges where the ceiling sloped sharply down. As in many old houses, it was cluttered with unwanted pieces of furniture, piles of cardboard boxes filled with who knew what, more modern plastic tubs stacked closer to the top of the staircase, and a few oddities and antiques. A naked female clothing mannequin with a bald head stared vacuously at them. Conall saw an old treadle sewing machine cheek by jowl with a gigantic plastic duck.

Lia’s gaze had followed his. “I think the duck rode on a Fourth of July float every year until my uncle died.”

“The mannequin?”

“My aunt owned a small clothing store in town.” She looked around as if she hadn’t thought about the contents of the attic in ages. “I don’t actually know what’s up here. Someday I should go through it all, but I always seem to be too busy.”

“The animals out there yours?” Jeff was peering out one of the windows.

“The horse and the pony are. They’re fun for the kids. I rent the other pasture out. Keeps it from growing up in blackberries.”

Conall found himself curious about her and wanting to ask questions, but none of them had anything to do with the job. Had she inherited the house? Why did she foster kids instead of having her own? Why wasn’t a woman who looked like that married?

Focus, he told himself. Lia Woods wasn’t the point here. Her neighbors were.

He walked to the second of the two windows looking to the south and saw immediately that they had a bird’s-eye view of the target. Except for the film on the outside of the glass, it couldn’t be better.

“Do these open?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

From the reluctance of the latch to give way, he could tell no one had tried in years. He muttered a swear word or two under his breath, scraped the latch open and heaved upward at the sash window. It groaned, shuddered and rose two inches before jolting to a stop.

“Hell.”

“Is this not going to work for you guys?” Lia sounded hopeful. And why shouldn’t she? She’d probably rather they got in their Suburban and drove away never to be seen again.

“We’ll loosen it up,” Conall said. He saw that Henderson was using his muscle to work on the other south-facing window. They’d need the damn things open, if only to get some air flow up here. Not surprisingly, the attic was stuffy and warm, and that was on a cloudy day with the temp reading sixty-nine when they passed a bank in town. If this op dragged on long, with spring edging into summer, it could turn hellish up here.

He was starting to turn away from the window when movement caught his eye. “Damn,” he muttered, and Henderson joined him. Oh, yeah, the neighbors definitely had a dog.

“You know those folks have a Doberman?” he asked.

Lia hurried over, catching a glimpse before the dog trotted around the corner of the other house. “No.” She sounded worried. “Maybe they put up an invisible fence of some kind. I haven’t seen it in the pasture. If I do, I’ll have to talk to them—” She looked fiercely at the two men. “I’ll have to do something if that animal scares my horses or attacks them.”

“Let’s worry about that if it happens,” Conall said.

She didn’t look happy, but finally reverted to tour guide, pointing out the bed she’d set up in the far corner. She had the polite thing down pat, and he imagined her giving much the same spiel to newly arrived foster kids. Except she’d probably offer it to them with more warmth than he was hearing. No, she wasn’t thrilled about their presence, the subtext was there. “I set it up yesterday and put fresh sheets on it. I gather that you won’t be sleeping at the same time?”

Conall said, “No.”

She nodded. “If it gets uncomfortable up here, there’s a twin bed in the room Julia and Arturo are in right now. I don’t expect them to be with me over a week. You can have that room once they’re gone.”

Right across the hall from hers. Conall imagined sleeping that near to her. Oh, yeah, that would be restful. He shot a narrow-eyed glance at Henderson to see if he was thinking the same, but he was looking around the attic with curiosity. Beyond his initial reaction, he hadn’t registered a lot of awareness of her. Conall’s shoulders relaxed slightly, which had him frowning. Another surprise; he hadn’t liked the idea that his partner might be slavering over her.

Like I am?

She was a sexy woman. So what? He’d had plenty of sexy women before. Getting them seemed to be one of his talents. Maybe it was the appeal of a man who didn’t really give a damn one way or the other. If a woman who attracted him made it plain she wasn’t available or interested, he shrugged and moved on. There were plenty of fish in the sea. Conall didn’t remember ever feeling anything approaching jealousy.

Lia might have a boyfriend or fiancé. He wondered if Phillips had thought to ask. A regular visitor here could threaten their anonymity. If that regular visitor was a man who felt possessive of her, he wouldn’t like their presence.

Conall wouldn’t like his, and definitely didn’t like the idea of a man having the right to go into her bedroom with her and shut the door.

“Do you have regular visitors? Family? Friends? Boyfriend?” His tone was abrupt.

Her chin edged up slightly and he saw a flare of irritation in those richly colored eyes. “Are you wondering how I’ll explain you?”

“Something like that.”

“These people next door are strangers. None of my friends have anything to do with them.”

“Are you so sure? Chances are they shop for groceries locally, pay their utility bills in town, wander the aisles in the hardware store, pump gas at the Arco or Shell station, stand in line to buy stamps at the post office. All they have to do is overhear a snatch of gossip. Maybe a word of concern about Lia, stuck with those feds doing a surveillance.”

She stared at him mulishly, but he could also tell that what he’d said had registered.

“What we need is zero gossip. No one can know we’re here.” He hesitated. “Our first and biggest problem is the kids. I presume they’re still in school.”

“The boys have been out the past two weeks. We’re close enough to the end of the school year, I think I’ll keep them home. You saw them. They’re not ready to go back.”

Good. Great. That left them with a teenage girl who would like nothing better than to have a dramatic story to share about the two federal agents spying on the neighbors from her foster mom’s attic.

“Sorrel…” Lia hesitated.

“Can you guarantee she’ll keep her mouth shut?”

She glared at him. “Maybe your advance guy should have nixed my household.”

Conall said bluntly, “He probably would have, if there’d been any other options at all.”

Her fingers flexed into fists, then relaxed. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Can you keep her home from school?”

“I have my teaching certificate. I can home-school the boys, but I’m not certified for secondary education.” She looked past him toward the mannequin. He could tell she was thinking. “I don’t actually think she’ll be a problem. Sorrel came to me only a month ago. She hasn’t made friends yet. She claims no one will even talk to her.”

He remembered middle school and high school all too well. “All the more reason for her to be delighted by an attention-grabbing story.”

Frustration showed on her face. “What do you suggest?”

“I’ll talk to her.” Seeing the way her expression changed, he corrected himself. “We’ll talk to her.”

“All right.” She looked from him to Henderson and back. “Is there anything else you need from me right now?”

“Maybe a key to the front door? Although we won’t be coming and going much. We don’t want to draw any attention.”

“I have extra keys.”

“You didn’t answer my question about visitors.”

Annoyance flared in her eyes again. “I gather I’m supposed to curtail all social life.”

“It would be helpful if you could conduct your social life elsewhere.” He was going for law enforcement formal, but had a bad feeling he was coming off sounding like an ass instead.

Yep. Her expression morphed into active dislike. “Consider it done.” With that, she turned and left them alone in the attic.

“Way to get the lady on our side,” Henderson remarked mildly.

Conall gave him a cold look and said, “Let’s get the rest of our crap.”

* * *

DUNCAN MACLACHLAN sat behind his desk and tried to concentrate on the document open on his computer. The Vehicle Impoundment and Inventory Procedure did not qualify as riveting reading, but he’d made it his mission to review and potentially revise all the department procedures and policies, from Field Training to Case Tracking. None had been reworked in at least ten years, and police work had changed, if only because of technological and scientific advances.

He kept thinking that if he hung on for another hour, he could take an early lunch with Jane and Fiona. He’d promised to bring takeout from the Snow Goose Deli to Jane’s store, Dance Dreams. Owning her own business meant his wife could take their now five-and-a-half-month-old daughter to work with her. They wouldn’t have to think about looking into preschools for at least another year.

Duncan realized he was smiling fatuously at the framed photo of his wife and daughter that sat on his desk. There were times he still didn’t understand how it had happened to him—falling in love, getting married, starting a family. He’d never intended to do any of those things. And here he was, still crazy about his wife, and head over heels in love with their daughter, a cherub with her uncle Niall’s red hair.

Damn, he thought, and focused his eyes again on the computer monitor.

When an officer impounds a vehicle, the officer shall complete the Vehicle Impound Report indicating the reason for impoundment in the narrative portion at the bottom of the form.

Did they absolutely have to use the word impound three times in one sentence?

Clarity, he reminded himself, was the goal, not elegant writing.

His phone rang, and feeling embarrassingly grateful for the interruption he grabbed it.

“MacLachlan.”

His administrative assistant cleared his throat. “Chief, you have a caller who says his name is, er, MacLachlan. Conall.”

Duncan’s youngest brother hadn’t spoken to him in over ten years. And he was calling now?

“Put him through,” he said brusquely. What could have happened that would have motivated his angry brother to be willing to talk to him? When he heard the click of the call being transferred, he said, “Conall, is it really you?”

“Yeah, it’s really me.” Startlingly, his voice hadn’t changed at all. It sounded a lot like Niall’s, maybe a little huskier.

“Damn.”

“That’s friendly.”

“You’ve caught me by surprise.”

“Yeah, I imagine I have.” There was a momentary pause. “I’m actually calling on official business. Believe it or not, I’m here in Stimson pursuing an investigation. I’m going to be conducting a surveillance within your city limits.”

Duncan stiffened. “Are you.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“If I had a warrant, I’d go in and toss the place. What I have is permission from a home-owner to use her premises to watch her neighbor’s house until we see something interesting enough to justify that warrant.”

“Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

“I don’t know,” his brother said. “I got pulled in late. I’ve been working out of the Miami Division.”

“So Niall said.”

“I’m currently on loan to Seattle. They’ve got something big going and needed extra manpower.”

“Are you already here?” he asked.

“Yeah. Flew into Seattle last night.”

“Does Niall know?”

“He’s next on my list. I figured I owed you a courtesy call first.”

Because he was police chief, not because they were brothers. That stung, although it shouldn’t have after years of estrangement.

“All right,” Duncan said. “Do you plan to come by the office to give me the details?”

“I’d rather not. I’m trying to fly below the radar.” Conall was quiet for a moment. “I’m hoping we can meet somewhere that looks unofficial.”

“You can come by the house.” The words were out before he could recall them. “You know I’m not in the old place.”

“I did know that. You sent me a check for part of the proceeds when you sold it.”

He had. Duncan had insisted on splitting what he made on their parents’ house, little though it was after the mortgage was paid out. Still, it was the closest thing any of them had to an inheritance from their worthless parents.

“You can meet my wife.”

“I meant to come to Niall’s wedding.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

This silence was a long one, and heavy with everything that hadn’t been said in the past decade. Or perhaps that was in his imagination.

“I was wounded,” Conall said finally.

Duncan’s reaction was visceral. It had been his greatest fear that one of these days he’d get a call from some higher-up at the DEA letting him know that they were very sorry, but his brother Conall had been killed in the line of duty. Niall was the one who talked to Conall from time to time, and he’d admitted he sometimes thought their youngest brother had a death wish. At the very least, he was a cold-blooded son of a bitch who lived for the adrenaline rush risk-taking gave him. Duncan wondered how much else he was capable of feeling.

If that wasn’t a chilling thought.

“You didn’t tell Niall.”

“I didn’t want to worry him. Especially right before his wedding.” Conall laughed. “Both of you married. Blows me away.”

“You know I have a baby daughter now.”

“You sent me a birth announcement.”

“Thanks for the congratulation.”

“Did you expect one?” His brother’s voice hardened.

“No.” Shit. He bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe hoped.” His own voice had come out rougher. “Whether you know it or not, I’ve missed you.”

It was so long before Conall responded, Duncan thought he’d lost him. No, I lost him twenty years ago, when I had to rein him in. Become the father he didn’t want.

“You think I don’t know what you did for us?” Tension threaded every word. “Of course I do. That doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

God. Damn. Duncan hadn’t hurt like this in a long time, not since he’d almost lost Jane before he could even tell her he loved her. He had to swallow before he could say with relative calm, “No, it doesn’t.”

“Oh, hell.” Conall sounded ragged. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Listen, I have to talk to you about this investigation. Can we keep it to that?”

“Sure. Do you want to have coffee somewhere? Or shall we meet up on a deserted road?” he added dryly.

“No. It would look best if I do come to your house. Gives me an excuse to be in town.”

That ticked Duncan off some. Good to know he was worth something to this brother he’d raised from age twelve on.

“Fine.” He gave Conall his address. “Jane and I don’t go out much. I’m home by six most nights.”

“I’ll make it this evening.”

“Fine,” he said again, and hung up the phone.

He sat there for a long time, unable to decide how he felt about Conall’s call. Or maybe what he couldn’t decide was which emotion was paramount. Anger? Hurt? Resentment? Or the astonished gratitude that might even have been happiness, because he’d heard Conall’s voice again. He was going to see him.

Tonight.

He looked at the computer monitor and realized there was no way in hell he could concentrate on impoundment procedures now.

What he was going to do was take an extra early lunch and go spend time with his wife and baby girl.

* * *

CALLING NIALL WAS ANTICLIMACTIC. Conall almost didn’t, almost put it off until tomorrow. But he didn’t want his middle brother to hear from Duncan that he was in town. He and Niall had been…friends, maybe, for too long. Niall was the only family Conall had accepted after he left home. It was bad enough that Niall had cooled toward him since his wedding last fall. The one Conall had failed to show for.

He didn’t have to identify himself. Niall listened in silence to his brief explanation of his presence in Stimson.

“You’re in town” was said in disbelief.

“Weird but true.” He was actually sitting outside on Lia’s porch, on an Adirondack chair painted a glossy, cherry red.

“Does Duncan know?”

“Yes.”

Niall made a sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a grunt. “You planning to meet with him face-to-face?”

“I’m going by his place tonight. If anybody hears I’m in town, they need to think it’s to see the two of you. There can’t be any talk about this operation.”

“You’ll meet Jane.”

“Yeah.” Conall made himself say it. “I want to meet your Rowan, too.”

“I haven’t told you she’s pregnant. We, uh, didn’t want our kids too far apart in age.”

Our kids. He must be talking about Rowan’s two. And a baby. Another little MacLachlan. This was getting surreal, Conall thought. His brothers had gone and turned into average joes. How had that happened?

“I’m glad for you,” he made himself say, “if that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want.”

No hesitation. The coolness was still there, too, the one he’d heard ever since he called to apologize for ducking out on the wedding. He’d told himself Niall wouldn’t give a damn if he wasn’t there, but Conall knew even then he’d lied to himself. He hadn’t ever been the one who’d made the effort to stay in touch, although Niall and he had gotten close after their father went to prison and their mother walked out on them. After Duncan sacrificed too damn much for them and turned into a tyrant. No, Niall was the one who had made the calls in the first few years. Who’d flown to wherever Conall was a few times. The one who seemed to need the connection.

Sitting here on the porch, gazing sightlessly at the old barn and the pasture and woods that lay beyond it, Conall had an uncomfortable insight.

He’d needed that connection, too. Maybe needed it more than did Niall, who had held on to a relationship with Duncan. Conall hadn’t admitted it to himself, but he’d been grateful every time he heard his brother’s voice.

He had somebody. One person who cared.

And he hadn’t realized how much he cared.

This unexpected homecoming, he thought, was going to be a bitch.