Running Scared Part 26

"But I wasn't! I hit him once too, y'know."

She bit back the urge to yell at her son with his bruised face and black eyes. "He stalked you in his car. If it's not you, it'll be someone else. He has a history of violence and he has to be held accountable, or helped if that's possible."

"Daegan'll make him stop."

Kate nearly laughed. If the situation weren't so dire, the consequences so great, she might have allowed herself a smile. As it was, she couldn't. Stretching out of her chair, she crossed through the living room to the dark fireplace. "I thought you were so sure that O'Rourke murdered someone," she said, sorting through the few dry logs in the basket on the hearth. "Weren't you convinced a couple of weeks ago that there was trouble and danger coming our way, that a man, a good man or an evil man, was coming?"

"Daegan's good." Jon crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes, deep in bruised sockets, sparking defiance.

"Since when? Because he saved you from getting pulverized?"

"Yeah! What would have happened if he hadn't been there?" Jon demanded and Kate felt cold as death inside. Jon was right. Ever since Daegan had stepped foot in Hopewell, he'd done nothing suspicious, been nothing but neighborly and well intentioned. So what if he seemed charged with a restless energy, like a man who was constantly on the run and looking over his shoulder? What did it matter that he was s.e.xy as all get-out and realized it? Even if he had some skeletons buried deep in his closets, who knew and who cared? Jon was right. So far O'Rourke had proved a trustworthy and concerned neighbor. Nothing more.

She tossed a chunk of mossy oak onto the blackened andirons and searched the mantel for a match.

Jon edged into the living room. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"I don't hate him. He just worries me, that's all."

"Well, I like him."

"Do you?" Her heart sank. Until recently, Jon had never attached himself to anyone but her. He'd had his share of teachers who had been fond of him and a coach or two-usually fathers of other boys-who had been kind to him when a lot of people in town treated him as a pariah, but she'd never heard that ring of conviction and awe in his voice when he'd spoken of another adult.

Daegan O'Rourke, whether he intended to be or not, was now a rival for her child's affections.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Jon said. "Because of what I said about him. About him killing someone."

She found a match, struck it against a brick in the fire box, and held the sizzling flame to kindling she'd stacked earlier. "I just don't know him, Jon," she said.

"Well, maybe you should."

Her head snapped up and she met her son's pained, hostile gaze. The same thought had been nagging her, though she'd been loath to admit it. She just hadn't faced the truth because it scared her and not just a little. Daegan and her reaction to him were all wrong. She couldn't-wouldn't-get involved with him and yet she'd felt it more than once, a simmering attraction that was downright dangerous with the wrong man. And Daegan was definitely the wrong man.

But Jon's point was well taken and there was no reason she couldn't be more neighborly than she had been, less suspicious. "All right." She stood and dusted her hands. "If you handle all the ghosts and goblins that knock on our door tonight, I'll visit Mr. O'Rourke."

Jon snorted in disgust and eyed the platter of cupcakes, decorated with orange frosting and candy corn that sat, at the ready, on the table near the door. Houndog had moved, plopping himself directly underneath the table, hoping that a sc.r.a.p would fall. "We don't ever have any trick or treaters, Mom. I don't know why you bother."

"Because the year I wasn't ready, we'd have legions of kids ringing the bell."

"In your dreams," he muttered under his breath.

It's not my dreams that worry me, she thought as the fire sputtered and hissed. she thought as the fire sputtered and hissed. It's yours. It's yours.

As he walked down the icy streets of Boston, Neils VanHorn was a man on a mission. He believed firmly that opportunity knocked only once on a man's door and right now opportunity was trying to beat his d.a.m.ned door down. This was it. The big time. His hands itched at the thought of how much money he was going to make in the next month or so. Bending his head against a blast of raw wind, he ground his teeth together. Soon he'd give up this frigid climate, buy himself a thirty-foot sailboat, and spend his time in the Caribbean.

He found the Irish pub, a dark cavern-like den where whiskey and ale were served with raucous noise and great fanfare. Darts zipped through the air in one corner of the establishment, and gla.s.ses clicked behind the bar. Waitresses in white blouses that showed off enough cleavage to give every guy in the place a hard-on swung through the crowded tables. Smoke clouded the air and laughter and gravelly voices vied for air time with m.u.f.fled music-ballads of some sort.

VanHorn took a corner booth in the back away from most of the noise and other patrons. He ordered a pitcher of the house's special ale and waited, dropping his gloves into the pockets of his coat and unwinding his scarf before hanging everything on a wooden peg sprouting from one of the support posts.

By the time his companion arrived, he was sipping from his second gla.s.s, warm inside and bolder than he should have been. "Have a seat," he invited, eyeing the woman in her mohair jacket and expensive perfume. Even in the dinginess of the pub, she remained wearing tinted gla.s.ses, her makeup flawless, her expensive jewelry in sharp contrast to the ambiance of the surroundings.

"Remind me why I'm here," she said, sliding a glance around the room with obvious disdain. She was still standing, as if deciding if he was worth her time.

"Because you want to be informed," he said evenly. He enjoyed playing both ends to the middle even though it was dangerous. "You don't like it when other people are manipulating you."

"As you are now?"

"I'm just here with information." He took a swallow and let that settle with her.

"When you called, you said Robert was up to something." "That's right." He enjoyed seeing her try to wrestle the information from him and in a quick instant he saw a trade in the future. What he knew exchanged for a night in her bed. He bet she slept on perfumed satin sheets. In his mind's eye he caught a glimpse of her long legs strapped around his torso.

"What is it you think is so valuable?" She didn't bother hiding the irritation in her usually well-modulated voice.

He played with a matchbook, tapping each corner on the table, watching her nearly squirm out of her skin while she pretended to have the patience of Job. "You know that his daughter had a b.a.s.t.a.r.d son about fifteen years ago. She gave him up for adoption."

The full, red lips pinched ever so slightly.

"Of course Robert, he didn't want the kid, nor did Bibi. Now, it seems, he's changed his mind."

A beat. She touched the edge of the table, and her eyes, behind those dark shades, never left his face, as if she was trying to figure out if he was lying to her. "So?"

"So he's paying me to find the boy."

"Why?"

"Seems as if he's had a grandfatherly change of heart. Thinks it's time the kid took his rightful place as a Sullivan. You know, inherit everything that should have gone to Stuart."

Carefully, she slid into the booth opposite him. He filled the empty gla.s.s the waitress had left for her.

"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked. "What's in it for you?"

"Robert's paying me well."

"To betray him? I don't think so. If I called him now, you'd be off the case like that." She snapped her fingers.

"But you won't call, will you?" He settled back against the seats. "Because I'll let you know what's going on."

"For a fee."

His gaze skated down her slim figure. What would it feel like to have some uppercrust woman in bed? Were they ice-cold statues, or did they breathe living fire? This one, he was certain, was definitely hot-blooded.

"How much?" she asked, and without so much as blinking behind her four-hundred-dollar dark gla.s.ses, she dug in her purse and withdrew her checkbook.

The oldest trick in the book. "Uh-uh. Shame on you." The leather book was halfway out of her purse, but she paused. "I only deal in cash. Small, unmarked, untraceable bills, lots of them, preferably with Alex Hamilton's face printed on them, though I'm partial to Andy Jackson's as well."

Her mouth twisted into a seductive smile that he found impossible to resist. She settled back against the tufted seat and licked her lips. "Why Mr. VanHorn," she breathed and he was instantly so hot he wanted to pull on his tie. "It looks like you're a man after my own heart."

"Okay, so I believe you." Daegan rubbed an ache from his shoulder and winced as he held the receiver to his ear "The boy's mine. I saw a chart with his blood type."

Bibi sighed gratefully. "Thanks for all your faith. Now, what're you going to do about him?" Daegan heard the worry edging her voice and he wondered how he'd ever found her vaguely attractive. It wasn't so much a matter of looks as of att.i.tude. The fact that she wasn't interested in her own child was unnatural.

"I figure I've got several options. I can tell everyone the truth and-"

"Oh, G.o.d, don't do that. If that woman finds out that Jon stands to inherit a fortune, then she'd let Dad claim him or try and blackmail me or-"

"She won't do either," Daegan said with conviction. In his encounters with Kate, he'd started to change his opinion of her. She didn't seem the least bit concerned about money. "I don't know why she got involved in the first place, but I can tell you firsthand that she loves that kid more than anything."

"I didn't say she didn't care about him, but just because she loves him doesn't mean she doesn't have a mercenary streak in her. Face it, Daegan, we all do. My guess is she split the eighty thousand dollars Dad gave Tyrell. Maybe she got the short end of the stick, but don't make her out like she's some kind of G.o.dd.a.m.ned saint."

"None of us are."

"Just so we understand each other," Bibi said and he heard her click a lighter. She let out a long breath. "Option one's out, what's number two?"

"I stake my claim as the natural father."

"That's worse yet. You'll have to name me as the mother and Kyle will never forgive me."

Now we were getting to the nitty-gritty. "How is lover boy?" Daegan asked, not even remotely curious. "How is lover boy?" Daegan asked, not even remotely curious.

"Fine, so far. He adores me, Daegan. For the first time in my life someone really loves me, but if he found out that the baby I'd given up was...was conceived with my cousin, I think...I think I'd lose him." Her voice actually shook with emotion and Daegan felt like a heel, as he did each time he was reminded of his one night with Bibi.

"If he loves you, he won't care what happened in the past."

"You're a great one to talk," she said, sarcasm lacing her words. "The original 'love 'em and leave 'em' guy."

He bit back a hot retort and decided she had the right to her bitterness. "Now that I'm in this, Bibi, I won't be able to leave it alone."

"Your job was to find the boy and come up with some idea of how to thwart Daddy."

"It may not be possible."

"Oh, Christ, Daegan, anything's possible, don't you know that by now?"

He glared out the window to the dark night, caught his reflection staring harshly at himself, and wished to heaven that there was an easy answer. "What do you want from me, Bibi?"

She let out a long-suffering sigh. "I want the same thing I gave you for fifteen years. My life. With no complications."

"I don't think I can promise that."

"Well, do some something. Find out what secrets the Summers woman is hiding, get some dirt on her so that we have some leverage."

"In case we have to resort to blackmail or extortion?" The thought burned like hot lead in his stomach.

"Exactly. She's got to have something she'd rather keep secret, something we can use as bargaining power."

"For what?"

"For her to get lost-more lost than she's ever been-but hurry up. We don't have much time. Dad's going to talk to a private investigator, I'm sure of it, and once that happens, it won't be long before the you-know-what hits the fan."

Its gonna be worse than you know, Bibi. He sensed an apocalypse the likes of which the Sullivans had never seen before. "Does Collin have any idea that this is coming down?" "Does Collin have any idea that this is coming down?"

He heard her little catch of breath. "Collin doesn't have a clue," she said with more than a trace of acrimony. "But then, what else is new?" He heard her neatly manicured nails tapping thoughtfully on the other end of the line. "I think, and this is no G.o.dd.a.m.ned joke, okay, I think you should steal the boy and take him to Canada or Europe or Mexico, somewhere outside the jurisdiction of the United States. Look, if you do this, I promise that when I inherit everything from Dad, I'll set you and the boy up for the rest of your life."

"Can't do it, Bibi," he said.

"But-"

"Leave it to me. I'm going to handle this my way."

"And what way is that?"

"I'll let you know when I figure it out." Slamming the receiver down, he swore long and hard. That old Sullivan chain seemed to be coiling around his neck again and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being set up. A headache pounded behind his eyes.

He walked through Eli's pathetic cabin to the refrigerator he'd recently leased. Everything in the few musty rooms was rented, the old furniture, if that's what you'd call it, stored in the garage. He had only the bare essentials. Just enough to get by for a few weeks-however long this might take.

Snagging a beer from the refrigerator, he twisted off the cap and walked onto the back porch, where, through the trees, he saw lamplight glowing at the Summers place. He wondered about Kate, how he was going to deal with her, then thought of Jon. How was he getting along? He looked like h.e.l.l. The Neider kid had taken care of that. How was a boy like Jon going to handle Todd Neider and the other hotheads who wanted a crack at the kid who was different, the boy through no fault of his own could see into a person's life?

Daegan knew from past experience what a curse that could be and thanked the powers that be that his own gift had faded with the years. If only Jon could be so lucky. Jon. Jon. His boy. The one he should claim, but couldn't. His boy. The one he should claim, but couldn't.

Kate's son. Her reason for living.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h." He leaned one shoulder against the rough post that supported the roof and listened as a coyote let out a long, lonesome howl. One of the horses neighed nervously and the wind tugged at his s.h.i.+rt tails.

A low growl emanated from the floorboards.

"Come on out from under there, Roscoe," Daegan ordered as if he expected the ornery animal to obey him. "Come on, boy. Give it a rest."

Another growl and deep-throated bark.

"You're the ugliest and most unfriendly mutt I've ever come across," Daegan allowed as he remembered another dog hidden in the shadows, a dog that had growled and threatened to attack when Stuart had stalked him on the waterfront all those years ago.

Stuart, the great manipulator, who had ended up dead. Why the h.e.l.l would he remember that night now? After over fifteen years?

As he turned to walk back inside, he heard a car jolting down the dual tire tracks of his lane. A visitor? The hairs on the back of his neck rose as headlights splashed twin beams over the dry gra.s.s of the backyard. He half expected Todd Neider's old man, equipped with a tire iron or baseball bat, to leap from the car intent on breaking bones or b.a.l.l.s, or that someone Robert Sullivan had hired to find his illegitimate grandson might appear.

Instead he recognized Kate's old Buick as it ground to a stop near the barn. He felt an unexpected warmth deep in his center and called himself a fool. Whether he wanted to or not, he was going to end up wounding her worse than even he could imagine. With a curse leveled at himself, he took a swallow of beer as she threw open the door. Light from the car's interior played in the golden strands of her hair. Daegan's jaw grew tight. He had no business noticing her hair or anything else about her, especially in light of his last conversation with Bibi.

Pocketing her keys, she nudged the car's door shut with her heel and approached the porch carrying a platter of some kind of cupcakes. "I think I owe you an apology," she said without much of a preamble. "No, I know I do." She shook her head, as if this humble gesture wasn't in her nature. "Happy Halloween."

The scent of her perfume-jasmine, he guessed-carried on the cool wind that teased at her hair as she handed him the plate.