The Call of Bravery

CHAPTER THREE



LAST NIGHT LIA had come upstairs, knocked briskly and then set two covered plates on the floor along with a couple of cold beers. “Dinner,” she’d said then left. If she’d been a waitress, she wouldn’t get much in the way of tips with that attitude.

This morning Jeff had gone downstairs and come back reporting that she made damn good waffles. By the time Conall got down to the kitchen, it was apparently closed. He found cereal in the cupboard and called it good, eating a solitary meal in the dining room.

They’d fended for themselves for lunch.

Tonight, he didn’t want to show up at Duncan’s anywhere around dinnertime; he hadn’t been invited and wasn’t sure he’d have accepted if he had been. So when Henderson said, “I had a decent breakfast and you didn’t. Why don’t you go down and eat with them?” he nodded.

“I’ll bring something up if Lia doesn’t.”

He left Henderson scanning the neighboring property with a scope that had both night-vision and digital filming capability. So far, nothing had happened over there. Literally nothing. No one had so much as stepped outside, although someone had to be letting the dogs—turned out there were a pair of Dobermans—in and out, or was at least feeding them. Tomorrow Conall planned to do some prowling. He wanted to see the back of the property, too.

This view was ideal, but unfortunately the neighbors were keeping their blinds drawn. Shadows occasionally passed in front of the windows. Any vehicles were hidden in the triple car attached garage, which had a single window covered inside with what looked like a heavy tarp.

The dogs definitely complicated things. He or Henderson could have slipped a few listening devices beside windows or on the porch if they could have gotten close enough. Somehow he suspected the Dobies wouldn’t prove to be tail-wagging friendly.

You wanted a challenge, he reminded himself. Consider yourself lucky.

Conall went downstairs to find Sorrel setting the table. A baby had already been placed in the high chair. The little girl had spiky black hair and eyes almost as dark. Her cheeks were fat and she grinned at him with no inhibitions at all, banging a spoon hard on the tray in emphasis. He retreated hastily, going to the kitchen where Lia stood over the stove, from which really good smells emitted. She glanced at him, expression shuttered.

“Are you eating with us?”

“If that’s okay.”

“Is Jeff coming down, too?”

Jeff. Good friends now, were they?

“No. With rare exceptions, one of us will be at that window all the time.”

She took a tray of big rolls out of the oven. Hunger pangs hit Conall and he had to swallow.

“Sorrel,” she called, “set a place for Conall, please.”

So he was on a first-name basis with her, too. Ridiculously, he was pleased.

The answer floated back. “Okay.”

“Here.” Lia had dumped the rolls in a huge basket and thrust it at him. “Will you put these on the table?”

Without checking to see whether he obeyed, she disappeared toward the living room. A couple of minutes later, she steered the two boys ahead of her into the dining room and set the toddler she’d carried on her hip onto a plastic booster seat at one place.

“What’s for dinner?” one of the boys asked. Brendan, Conall thought.

“Sloppy joes.” Her eyes cut to Conall. “Nothing fancy.”

“It smells amazing,” he said honestly.

Her expression didn’t soften. She finished bringing the food to the table, including a bowl of peas. “Picked an hour ago,” she informed everyone.

Conall waited and sat at the same time she did, feeling some alien need to display good manners. She—or maybe it was Sorrel—had placed him at the opposite end of the table from Lia. Mother and father, children ranged between them.

He couldn’t remember sitting down to a family dinner like this since he was… Good Lord, maybe seven or eight. Before one of Dad’s prison terms. After that, nothing was ever the same. One thing he did know, though, was that conversation should be flying and the kids more animated than these.

Baby Julia was the only cheerful one, banging and chattering unintelligibly. Little Arturo, chubby, too, focused entirely on his food and didn’t say a word. Neither did either of the older boys at first. Sorrel watched Conall surreptitiously, blushing when his gaze caught hers a couple of times.

They passed around the food—those homemade rolls straight out of the oven, sloppy joe sauce to go over them, and peas. He’d forgotten how good peas fresh from the garden could be.

Lia presided over the meal with grace and warmth, refusing to let the kids stay entirely closed off. Brendan, it turned out, was the older one. She got him talking about the Transformers movie and why the theme appealed to him. Conall was pretty sure he’d never considered that movies had themes when he was that age.

“Do you like it?” the boy asked him shyly.

“Yeah, actually I enjoyed all three of the movies,” Conall admitted. “Not that they’re—”

Lia shook her head, her gaze fierce.

“Uh, they’re fun,” he said. “You like ’em, too, Walker? Or do you watch what Brendan says you have to watch?”

The younger boy looked confused. After a minute he said softly, “I don’t care what we watch.”

Oh, geez. “I had—have—two older brothers. I pretended I liked whatever they liked because I wanted to hang around with them.”

It was the first time Walker had actually seemed to see him. “I like to hang around with Bren.”

“He seems like he’s pretty good to you.” Conall found himself speaking gently.

The boy nodded.

“We’re brothers,” Brendan said.

“I can tell. You look alike.” He hesitated. “Lia told me about your mom. I’m sorry.”

They both ducked their heads. Walker blinked furiously. Oh, hell. He’d probably blown it. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut?

And then he opened it again. “When I was twelve, I lost my parents.” A fireball of alarm exploded in his chest. What in God’s name was he doing? But something on those two boys’ faces when they looked up drove him on. He cleared his throat. “They didn’t die. My dad went to prison and my mother decided she didn’t want the responsibility of kids anymore. She packed up and left.”

There was an appalled silence. Conall didn’t let himself see the expression on Lia’s face.

“She left?” Brendan whispered. “On purpose?”

“Yeah. I’m guessing you know your mom would have done anything in the world not to leave you.”

He could see in their eyes that it was true.

If he’d been into greeting card moments, he would have gone on and said, You’re lucky because you’ll be able to remember your whole lives how much your mother loved you. Fortunately, he wasn’t, and he didn’t.

But they understood anyway. After a moment they both nodded.

It was Sorrel who asked, “How come your dad got put in prison?”

“He sold illegal drugs.”

“My friend Rochelle’s does sometimes, too. At least, she thinks so. She hasn’t seen him in a long time.”

“I haven’t seen mine since I was twelve.”

“Is he still in prison?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Did you have to go to a foster home, like us?”

Conall looked around the table. They were all staring at him except Arturo, who kept eating, messy but getting the job done. Julia beamed at Conall, her four teeth cute accents in that broad smile. The other kids had expressions that said, Are you one of us?

He shook his head. “I told you I have two brothers. My oldest had turned eighteen. Mom and Dad let him keep the house. He got a job and took care of my other brother and me.” He was getting a lump in his throat. Man, this was stupid, but right this minute he couldn’t help seeing the past in a different light. Yes, he knew he’d been lucky to have Duncan, but seeing the faces of these kids brought it into sharp focus.

He would have gone to a foster home if Duncan hadn’t given up his dream of going off to college, Conall knew. Or his stay would have been short. He’d been too big a screw-up, as young as he was. He’d already stolen a car and gotten caught. He’d gotten so drunk a couple of times, he’d blacked out. He’d smoked marijuana, tried cocaine. He’d have ended up in a group home if he’d gotten his act together at all, in lockup if he hadn’t.

Dad and me.

He didn’t like acknowledging it, but he owed Duncan big-time. Not the mood Conall wanted to be in for this reunion.

“What kind of job did he get?” Brendan asked.

Conall blinked. “Ah…construction. He’d been doing it summers anyway. He managed to get his college degree, too, mostly with evening classes. Duncan was really motivated.” He heard how sardonic that sounded. My brother who could move mountains.

“Duncan?” Lia said sharply. Her eyes were wide and astonished. “I should have realized.”

“Realized?” he said warily.

“Your brother is the police chief.”

“He’s a cop?” Sorrel exclaimed.

“Yeah, he’s a cop.” Didn’t she realize he was, too? “So is my other brother, Niall. He’s a detective with the police force here in town.” Conall could feel how crooked his smile was. Ah, the ironies of life. “Our dad was in and out of prison, and all three of us went into law enforcement.”

The teenager stared at him with open astonishment. “But…”

“We don’t have to follow in our parents’ footsteps, Sorrel,” Lia said. “I think that’s what Conall is telling you.”

Actually, it wasn’t, but he didn’t argue. What had he been trying to tell her? He should know, but didn’t. Truth was, he’d stumbled into law enforcement, not chosen it as Duncan had. Conall had looked for something exciting, out of the ordinary. What he’d found suited him perfectly. He was good at undercover work because he was a hell of an actor. Always had been. The job didn’t require him to make emotional connections; in fact, his ability to feel nothing was useful. Going deep for months at a time was hard if you identified too closely with your role. If you started caring about the people you were there to bring down. That wasn’t a problem he’d ever had.

He hadn’t set out to do battle with all drug dealers because they symbolized his father. He wasn’t aiming for atonement. The idea was ridiculous. You had to care, if only in a negative way, to draw in a face on the paper target at the shooting range that you intended to pump full of bullet holes. Conall didn’t do that. His paper targets stayed faceless.

He was aware, though, of some tension he didn’t understand. He was frowning, he realized. Probably because thinking about either of his parents always made him edgy.

Then don’t.

Easier when he was far, far away from his not-so-beloved hometown.

He tuned in to discover that the others were talking, sounding more normal than they had earlier. Lia laughed at something Sorrel said, and he found himself staring. The sound was unexpectedly throaty and…honest. Most people tried to rein themselves in when they laughed. They didn’t surrender to the moment. Her head fell back and she shook with it. Amusement seemed to light her from within. His body tightened in automatic reaction and he made himself look away.

She was still smiling when she scanned the faces at the table. “Blueberry cobbler, anyone?”

Conall almost groaned. He’d intended to take off, but…homemade cobbler? “With ice cream?” he asked hopefully.

She laughed again, the first genuinely warm look she’d ever aimed directly at him. “Vanilla.”

“Then wow. Yes for me.”

Chortling nonsense sounds, Julia whacked her spoon on the tray. She was already a mess, sloppy joe sauce smeared on her fat cheeks. He could only imagine what blueberries would do to her.

Turned out Lia was smarter than that. The baby only got ice cream, her brother ice cream with a few berries stirred in. They both seemed satisfied. Everyone else ate with gusto and enthusiasm, even Walker and Brendan. It was hard to be depressed when every bite you put in your mouth was bliss on the spoon. This, he thought, was Lia’s talent. Or one of them, anyway. The ability to soothe and inspire and heal by the food she put on the table.

And with her smiles, too, unbelievably gentle for all the kids, a little different for Sorrel, as if with the tilt of her lips she was implying something conspiratorial: we girls are in this together. Her smiles for him were considerably more cautious, conventional. Conall didn’t blame her. She should be cautious around him.

He scraped his bowl clean and resisted the temptation to lick it even cleaner, then grinned. “That was the best thing I’ve eaten since I can remember. Thank you.”

Unless it was his imagination, a tiny bit of color touched her cheeks. “You’re welcome.”

“If I may be excused, I’m off to see my brother.”

“Duncan?” Walker asked.

“Yeah. Duncan.”

“Oh.” The boy ducked his head. When everyone waited, he asked, “Will he ever come see you here?”

“Ah…probably not.” Definitely, hell no, not.

The boy’s shoulders seemed to sag slightly. “Oh. Okay.”

Conall was still asking himself what that was about when he stuck his head upstairs to tell Henderson he was going, then walked out to the Suburban. What would Walker think if Conall told him that, after all his big brother had done for him, he hadn’t spoken to him in years? No mystery there—the kid wouldn’t understand.

Conall didn’t totally understand.

Brooding, he hit the first pothole out on the gravel road too fast, and thought for a minute he’d broken an axle and maybe a tooth.

Goddamn it, concentrate. This was a job. He hadn’t come home to muck around in the past.

Duncan, he discovered, had a pretty fancy place. Nothing cookie-cutter about it—angles and planes and shingled siding, very Northwest. Spectacular garden, too. The wife’s influence, maybe?

Conall didn’t suffer from nerves, but he felt a few twinges after he rang the doorbell. He rotated his shoulders to reduce the tension there was no reason to feel.

Even so, when the door opened he was balanced on the balls of his feet as if anticipating an attack. Ready for the worst, but making sure his body language looked relaxed. Acting.

When he saw the man in the opening, Conall thought, Damn. He would have known Duncan anywhere, but he’d changed, too. Aged. Well, of course he’d aged, but Conall was shocked to see that he had threads of silver in his dark hair. Not many, but a gathering at each temple. Of course, he was heading toward forty now.

In fact, he was close to the age of their father when they’d last seen him. And…the same age Mom had been? Was it possible?

The craggy face that looked more like Conall’s own than he was comfortable acknowledging was almost as expressionless as he remembered. But…not quite. He’d loosened up in some indefinable way.

“Conall.” He stepped back. “Come in.”

Conall dipped his head and walked in. He followed his brother past the living room to the kitchen, where a woman closed the dishwasher then turned to study him.

“Another MacLachlan,” she said with a small laugh. “Nobody could mistake you.”

He stiffened at that, but only said, “You must be Jane.”

“Yes. I’ll leave you two to talk, but I wanted to meet you.” She smiled and came to him, her hand outstretched. “Hello, Conall.”

She was a beauty. Not like Lia, but definitely classy. She moved like a dancer, toes slightly turned out, had a mass of glossy brown hair bundled carelessly at her nape, and deep blue eyes that were friendly but also watchful.

Suddenly amused, Conall suspected that if Duncan hadn’t been present, she’d have issued dire warnings. Hurt my husband and you’re dead meat. Strangely, he was pleased. She loved his big tough brother, who was a lucky son of a bitch.

Conall took her hand, but instead of shaking it he drew her to him and kissed her cheek. “It’s a pleasure, Jane.”

She eyed his deliberately charming smile with suspicion as she withdrew, heightening his amusement. Yeah, she might even be a match for Duncan. Go figure.

She excused herself, leaving the two men alone.

“Have you eaten?” Duncan asked.

“Yes.”

“Coffee?”

“Thanks.” He sat on one of the breakfast bar stools and rested his elbows on the counter. “Nice place.”

Duncan nodded.

“Baby asleep?”

“Yeah, she just went down for the night.”

“There’s a baby at the place I’m staying.” He didn’t know why he’d said that. “Eight months, I think. Happy little thing.”

“Fiona isn’t quite that.”

He knew exactly how old Duncan’s daughter was. He’d looked at the baby announcement in amazement when it arrived, and later the one photo Duncan sent. Until today, Duncan never commented on the fact that he didn’t hear back from Conall. Into the vacuum he kept sending a very occasional letter, things like the wedding invitation and then the birth announcement, sometimes a Christmas card. Conall had never figured out why he bothered.

Now…he thought maybe they were a trail of bread crumbs, offering a way home. The idea unsettled him, maybe because here he was.

Not home. Not anymore.

It hadn’t been in a long time. The trouble was, he didn’t exactly have a home. He’d never made one.

Didn’t want one.

“I’d like to see her.” Strangely, he realized he really did. See what MacLachlan blood wrought in the next generation.

“How long are you going to be around?”

“I don’t know. It depends on what we find. Or don’t find.”

Duncan inclined his head. He brought two mugs of coffee to the bar and sat, too, a couple of stools away from Conall. “So tell me about it.”

They talked then, both professionals, Conall expressing some of his irritation with the vagueness of the information he’d been given. “You know anything about the people in that house?” he asked.

His brother shook his head. “No. The owner does something in the oil business. He worked up at the refinery in Anacortes, but I hear he got transferred to Texas, and couldn’t sell the house as quick as he needed to. Real estate is slow right now.”

Real estate was slow right now everywhere.

“So he and his wife are renting the place out for now. It can’t be cheap, that’s a big house.”

“You actually know it,” Conall said slowly.

Duncan’s eyes, razor sharp, met his. “I’ve driven or walked every street in my city.”

“You didn’t herniate a disk driving that one?”

Duncan grinned. “A few potholes? Are you such a city boy now you can’t deal with ’em?”

“These damn things have to be a foot deep. I’d kick in some bucks to the cause of filling them, except I don’t want Lia to have to go knocking on her neighbors’ doors right now.”

“Lia?” His brother frowned. “Lia Woods? That’s who you’re staying with?”

“That’s her.”

“Foster kids?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Huh.” Duncan became pensive.

“What? You know her?” He set down his cup hard enough to splash. “You had a thing with her?”

That earned him a startled look. “God, no. I’ve never met the woman. At least, I don’t think I have. No, I heard something.” He hesitated. “Probably nothing I should repeat.”

Conall snorted. “Hell, no, you’re not doing that. You think I can’t be close-mouthed?”

“I don’t want you, as a federal agent, to feel like you have to do something about it.”

About…what? He sifted through the possibilities. Lia wouldn’t still be licensed if this had anything to do with the children in her care. Say, an accident, or alleged abuse, or…

“She’s got more kids than we were told she had.”

Duncan’s gaze, steady, met his. “Hispanic?”

“Yeah.” Conall laughed. “Oh, man. They’re illegals.”

“I, uh, heard a rumor and made the decision not to check it out. Most of the time we don’t get involved in immigration issues. I don’t want anyone to be afraid to talk to us because they think we’ll get them deported.”

Conall nodded. Maybe that was why Arturo hadn’t spoken at all at the dinner table. If he was Spanish-speaking, he probably hadn’t understood a word anyone said.

“I assume the county or whoever licenses her doesn’t know this.”

“I assume not. And that’s if it’s true. It may not be.”

“Oh, I’d bet it is. Phillips didn’t know anything about the two littlest kids she has, except that she told him they were real temporary. He figured it was a receiving home thing.” Conall laughed again. “No wonder she hasn’t been as warm and welcoming as she could be.”

“She can’t be thrilled with the arrangement anyway. She’s got two men moving in with her. Must be awkward as hell. You’re extra work, could be a bad influence on the kids. Worse yet, what if the bad guys next door learn you’re there? Your presence could put those kids in danger.”

Conall couldn’t argue. In fact, offhand he couldn’t think of an upside for Lia. When he thought about it, he guessed maybe she’d been decent to the two strange men she’d been saddled with.

Should he try to reassure her that they weren’t interested in immigration issues, either? Was there any way to do that without letting her know that she was on the local law enforcement radar? Without scaring the crap out of her?

No. There wasn’t.

He’d keep his mouth shut, he decided.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Duncan said. “We could maybe find a reason to knock on their door without making them suspicious.”

“Not yet. Sooner or later they’ll show themselves. If we can get some photos, identify faces, then we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”

“Okay,” Duncan said.

Conall recognized a signal and slid off the stool. “I’d better get back.”

“Jane will want to have you to dinner.”

Conall depended on his instincts, developed over years of perilous undercover work. What he didn’t often do was pause to think, How do I feel about that? His stride checked briefly when he discovered he didn’t recognize what he was feeling. Something was going on inside him, but he didn’t know what. It seemed that he was okay with the idea of socializing with his brother and sister-in-law. And that was worrisome. This whole experience was like being flipped upside down and given a good hard shake. Things weren’t settling back into the right places.

Remembering the look of warning his sister-in-law had given him, he said, “I’d actually like that. I told Niall I want to meet his wife, too. And their kids.”

“We’ll do a family get-together.” Did Duncan sound as bemused as Conall felt?

Maybe.

Needing to get out of there, Conall departed after only a few more words, all polite and shallow as a coat of paint.

Where was the bone-deep anger? The resentment? The intense gratitude he’d hated most of all?

Nowhere to be found.

There was a whole mess of stuff going on inside him, but none of it was familiar. That left him unsteady, a stranger to himself. Not a sensation he liked.

* * *

LIA DIDN’T MAKE IT OUT to feed the horses until dark. The younger kids were all in bed. Having Sorrel was something of a blessing right now, as Lia trusted her enough to believe she’d respond to sounds of distress. Otherwise Lia wouldn’t be able to linger outside, as she was doing tonight.

She’d quartered an apple and brought that out, too. She loved the feel of the soft lips on her palm, the whiskers tickling her. Noses butted her chest and she laughed aloud.

Eventually she returned to the porch, where she’d probably hear any cries as she’d left the living room window open to the night air. She chose to sit on the porch with her feet on the top step, her arms wrapping her knees. She didn’t even kid herself that she was here to enjoy the solitude.

She was waiting for Special Agent Conall MacLachlan.

He wasn’t quite what she’d first thought. Although she wasn’t sure what that was. He’d both stirred something in her and scared her from first sight. She told herself she didn’t like him.

The other agent—Jeff Henderson—seemed like an okay guy. Almost too normal to be a federal agent. When she’d asked at breakfast this morning about his family, he had whipped out a photo of a blonde woman who was plain but nice-looking and two kids. The boy looked a lot like his dad, which probably meant his hairline would recede early, too. Jeff glowed with pride.

MacLachlan, though, was another story. He was…maybe not handsome, but definitely sexy. The air all but shimmered around him from a mixture of charisma and testosterone. She could see even Sorrel reacting to it, which worried Lia. That was one of the reasons she wanted to talk to him privately. The boys were another. He’d awakened their interest, which could be good for them or very, very bad.

Mostly, she wanted to know who he was. If that story he’d told at dinner was true.

When he’d first arrived, she thought he was cold. He had a tempting smile that didn’t reach his gray eyes. His expressions were fleeting and hard to read. He was an enigma, and she’d been forced to take him into her house. She didn’t see how she could prevent contact between him and the kids.

And then, what did he do at dinner but discombobulate her utterly. He’d talked to the boys as if…well, as if they were people. Not the way most adults dealt with children. He’d been kind and honest—she hoped—and known exactly the right thing to say.

Lia wanted to know how that could be. Jeff had told her his partner wasn’t married. “No kids,” he’d said, shaking his head as if baffled that a man wouldn’t want them. If Conall had the background he said he did, how did he know what Bren and Walker needed to hear?

Please, God, it wasn’t all an act designed to gain their confidence, to get them to talk to him. About her. What if he wasn’t with the Drug Enforcement Agency at all, but was really with Immigration? Or cooperating with them? She shivered and hugged her knees harder.

I’m paranoid. That’s all. Surely nobody would care all that much about what she was doing.

Still. Why, oh why, was it taking so long to find a place for Julia and Arturo to go? Didn’t Mateo understand how dangerous her situation was? The whole network could be at risk.

The deep sound of an engine made her stiffen. As she saw headlights turn into her drive, she was glad she hadn’t turned on the outside light. She’d have felt unbearably exposed.

It wasn’t too late to go in, before he saw her.

No. This was a good time to talk to him, to feel him out, and she had determined to seize it.

The Suburban rolled to a stop by the barn. A moment later it went dark and silent. The door slammed, and Conall strolled across the yard toward the house. One of the horses whickered softly and Conall’s head turned but he kept walking.

She knew the exact moment he saw her.