Running Scared Part 7

Robert Sullivan had overstepped his boundaries one too many times.

One more bold step, and he would have to be stopped.

Chapter 5.

Daegan O'Rourke propped the phone between his head and shoulder so that he could bang on the splintered window sash to pry the d.a.m.ned thing open. Right now the phone was one of the few things that worked in Eli McIntyre's old cabin, and if Daegan was going to stay here, he had his work cut out for him just making it livable. Which he would have to do, if he was going to stick around here until he met the Summers kid and figured out if the boy was the one. "Okay, Sandy," he told his old friend from grade school. "What do you have for me?"

"Your information panned out." Though he was miles away, back in Boston, Sandy's gravelly voice sounded close and familiar. "Looks like old Robert has engaged the services of one Neils VanHorn, a two-bit private investigator with a reputation for chasing a buck and bending the ethics of the profession."

So Bibi was right; Robert was looking to dig up some old dirt.

"VanHorn is not the sort of guy a man like Robert Sullivan usually employs," Sandy went on. "Makes you wonder what Robert wants VanHorn to do."

He's looking for a male heir, Daegan thought. A way to sink his claws into some innocent kid, a total power trip. A way to sink his claws into some innocent kid, a total power trip.

"No doubt VanHorn's been hired for something slimy and underhanded," Sandy went on, half-joking.

"You got that right," Daegan said.

Sandy Kavenaugh's instincts had always been on the money. During a stint in the military, Kavenaugh had done some intelligence work, then, once his. .h.i.tch was over, had opened his own private detective agency. It was Sandy who'd checked up on Daegan's mother, Mary Ellen, whom Daegan hadn't had contact with in years, as well as keeping an eye on the Sullivans, watching each and every one of them, including Bibi. As far as Daegan was concerned, none of them could be trusted.

"Want me to see what I can find out about VanHorn?" Sandy asked.

"See if you can get wind of what he's doing for Robert Sullivan," Daegan said as he stared out the window toward the Summers place next door. "And keep your ear to the ground for any mention of an illegitimate heir to the Sullivan fortune. Seems my cousin Bibi had a kid some fifteen years ago, and there's something brewing about finding the boy now and naming him in the will."

"Imagine that? Some kid could be a secret millionaire," Sandy said.

At what price? Daegan thought, brus.h.i.+ng away a cobweb as he turned toward the bedroom.

"I'll see what I can find on the kid and get back to you," Sandy said.

The kid. As Daegan hung up, he felt his jaw clench at the notion that the kid living in the neighboring ranch could be the one he was looking for...his son.

The idea of having a son was still fresh and uncomfortable, like a new boot that was a little too tight and pinched at the toes. He'd never seen himself as a father; never planned to have any children. And never, never never would he have let a kid of his grow up without a strong male influence. would he have let a kid of his grow up without a strong male influence.

But the worst of it was Jon's mother. Kate. More intelligent and wary than he'd expected and far more attractive than he'd hoped, there was something about her he found d.a.m.nably intriguing. Probably because she was forbidden fruit-that was his problem with women. The ones that were off-limits were the most fascinating. His own personal curse. He'd make sure the attraction pa.s.sed, but wished he knew what to do with her.

In the bedroom he paused and frowned at the stained mattress lying on the floor. Nearby was a half-full bottle of rot-gut whiskey, a carton of cigarettes, and a couple of copies of Playboy Playboy magazine. Looked like someone was having himself a party. An ashtray that had the irregular shape and mottled coloring to suggest it had been made in some kind of crafts cla.s.s was filled with b.u.t.ts-several different brands. Daegan smiled. Yep, the old McIntyre ranch must've become the local clubhouse for juvenile delinquents, one of which might well be Jon Summers. magazine. Looked like someone was having himself a party. An ashtray that had the irregular shape and mottled coloring to suggest it had been made in some kind of crafts cla.s.s was filled with b.u.t.ts-several different brands. Daegan smiled. Yep, the old McIntyre ranch must've become the local clubhouse for juvenile delinquents, one of which might well be Jon Summers.

Good. If the kid was trouble, his job would be easier. He walked outside again and a low growl emanated from beneath the dusty floorboards of the porch. Bending on one knee, Daegan peered below into the darkness and found a half-starved dog lying in the shadows. Teeth bared, steady eyes trained on Daegan's throat, the mutt let out another rumbling warning. "That's no way to treat the new tenant," Daegan admonished softly. "Come on out of there."

The hound didn't budge, just snarled.

"Great." That's when he noticed the metal dishes-mixing bowls tucked into one corner of the porch. One was half-full of water, the other was empty. "Someone taking care of you, boy?"

The dog didn't respond, just cowered, looking at Daegan with yellow, distrusting eyes.

Standing, Daegan stretched and stared at the barren acres. The only house close by was the Summers place, located on the other side of a stand of pine. Other neighbors could have made it their mission to take care of old McIntyre's dog, but Daegan had a gut feeling that either Jon Summers or his mother was seeing that the mutt didn't starve or dehydrate. Just the break he needed. "I think you and I are gonna be good friends." And what about the boy? Is he gonna be your good friend, too? Or is he going to end up hating you for the rest of his life? And what about the boy? Is he gonna be your good friend, too? Or is he going to end up hating you for the rest of his life?

Kate waited impatiently for her sister to answer and glared at the clock. Almost three here, nearly six o'-clock in Boston. Laura would be getting home from work and Kate wanted to talk to her sister in private, before Jon got home from school so he wouldn't overhear any of the conversation. "Come on, come on," she said, pacing by the kitchen window and stretching the phone cord as she walked from one end of the kitchen to the other. Laura, who worked for the state, had access to all kinds of legal doc.u.ments. Births, deaths, prison records.

Kate had never asked a favor of her sister before. Even though she'd been tempted a hundred times to find out the true ident.i.ty of Jon's biological parents, she'd resisted asking Laura to look up the information. Whether she felt she was crossing an ethical barrier or because she was just plain chicken to find out, she didn't know. But things had changed now that Jon had begun asking questions about his father. She needed to find out the truth in order to protect Jon.

The recorder picked up on the fourth ring. "Hi, you've reached Laura and Jeremy. We can't come to the phone right now, but if you'd leave a message after the beep..." Kate waited impatiently, then asked her sister to call. Now that she'd decided upon a course of action, she was anxious to set it into motion.

Slamming the receiver down, she told herself to remain calm. Nothing had changed. Yet. Kids had bad dreams all the time.

Pouring the final cup of coffee from this morning's pot, she sat back down at her desk to read the last of twenty-five essays she had to correct for her cla.s.s in the morning. She rubbed her eyes and was reaching for her reading gla.s.ses when she heard the rumble of an engine. Peering through the lace curtains, she expected Jon to appear. Rather than waiting for the bus, he'd probably caught a ride with someone, a kid with a car and hopefully a driver's license. He was starting to complain that taking the bus was a drag and only for babies.

A beat-up once-green pickup lumbered up the drive and Kate recognized it at once. Daegan O'Rourke, the stranger who had fixed her tire, stretched out of the cab and she felt a warning increase in her pulse. Tall and lean, a cowboy type in faded jeans, dusty blue s.h.i.+rt, and rawhide jacket, O'Rourke made his way to the front porch.

What could he possibly want from her?

She'd thought of him a couple of times since he'd insisted upon helping her-there had been a raw s.e.xual energy about him, a hidden strength of character that made it impossible for him to take no for an answer. She hadn't wanted his help, but he'd practically shoved it down her throat, and rather than seeming ungrateful, she'd let him change the d.a.m.ned tire. So what was he doing here? Whatever it was he was peddling, she wasn't interested. Contrary to popular belief, the last complication she needed in her life was a man.

As she watched him climb the steps, his boots ringing on the old planks, she noticed the determined cut of his jaw, the blade-thin mouth, the harsh planes of his face. He looked like a man with a mission and she knew instinctively that somehow it involved her.

Normally she wouldn't have thought a thing about opening the door to him. Every once in a while someone stopped by to ask for directions or with car trouble, but today, when her nerves were already stretched thin from worries about Jon, she was suspicious, and as he rang the bell, she opened the door but stood on the other side of the screen.

His eyes met hers through the mesh and a quick smile lighted his face. "So you're my neighbor." His voice was a deep drawl, his tanned face all blades and angles honed from hours in the elements. Gray eyes studied her without a trace of warmth. "How about that?"

"Neighbor?" she repeated.

Hitching a calloused thumb in the direction of the ranch next door, he said, "I'm renting the McIntyre place."

Kate felt a little catch in her breath and told herself she was being silly. She had nothing to fear from this man, no reason not to trust him. He'd helped helped her, for crying out loud, changed her flat tire. She should be grateful that someone was going to live in Eli's place and keep it up. Empty buildings often attracted a bad element. But she couldn't shake the sensation that this man was the last person on earth she wanted living next door. He carried with him no air of satisfaction that usually came with ranching. No, this man was restless; a thrum of energy seemed to hide beneath the tanned skin that stretched over the strong angles of his face. her, for crying out loud, changed her flat tire. She should be grateful that someone was going to live in Eli's place and keep it up. Empty buildings often attracted a bad element. But she couldn't shake the sensation that this man was the last person on earth she wanted living next door. He carried with him no air of satisfaction that usually came with ranching. No, this man was restless; a thrum of energy seemed to hide beneath the tanned skin that stretched over the strong angles of his face.

All Jon's talk had unnerved her, that's all. Relax, Kate. Relax, Kate. She opened the screen door. She opened the screen door.

"How's the tire?" he asked.

"Back on the car. I must've run over a screw somewhere. George, down at the station, found one lodged in the tread, though I can't imagine where I picked it up."

"So it could be fixed?"

"Yeah, I guess I lucked out."

He hesitated, then rubbed his chin. "I guess it's my turn to ask a favor," he said, s.h.i.+fting from one leg to the other. "I'm having a little trouble myself. I was wondering if I could use your phone to call the telephone company. They were supposed to send out a guy this morning, but he never showed."

Some of the tension in her muscles drained. You're losing it, Kate. You're losing it, Kate.

"Sure. I'll go get it." She should have just asked him inside, but she was still nervous. Even though he seemed honest enough, she didn't know him. And there was Jon's prediction to consider-trouble or danger coming their way. "I'll just be a minute." In the kitchen, she picked up the remote, and as she pa.s.sed by the front closet, she reminded herself that her grandfather's rifle was tucked in the corner, unloaded, but a weapon nonetheless.

As if she needed one.

Face it, Kate, all Jon's talk has got you wound tighter than a top and now you're jumping at shadows. Her heart raced a little and she silently called herself a fool. This wasn't the city, for G.o.d's sake, and this guy certainly wasn't an ex-prisoner from somewhere in New England. He spoke with a western tw.a.n.g, dressed as if he'd been born in a pair of rawhide boots, and probably had never seen the eastern sh.o.r.es of the Mississippi. Her heart raced a little and she silently called herself a fool. This wasn't the city, for G.o.d's sake, and this guy certainly wasn't an ex-prisoner from somewhere in New England. He spoke with a western tw.a.n.g, dressed as if he'd been born in a pair of rawhide boots, and probably had never seen the eastern sh.o.r.es of the Mississippi.

O'Rourke was propped against the railing, his dark hair showing streaks of red in the afternoon sunlight. "Here you go." She handed him the receiver and his jaw slid to one side. He was probably amused by her caution. He inched his wallet out of the back pocket of his faded jeans and found a card, then punched out numbers and waited. "Hold," he mouthed, then hit another number. "I hate these things." Grumbling under his breath, he kept punching, finally stopped and looked at her with steely eyes guarded by thick black eyebrows. "It would help if they'd just connect me to a real person instead of a machine and tape recording-" His head snapped up. "h.e.l.l, yes, I'm here. Look, I'm expecting a man to come and hook up my phone...what? Oh. Daegan O'Rourke and I live..." He turned his back to her and concentrated on the phone call.

She couldn't help studying his backside-shoulders broad enough to stretch the seams of his jacket, trim waist, narrow hips. His jeans were worn and dusty, his boots needed polish, the heels worn down, the back of his neck tanned from hours in the sun. He was frustrated, raking a hand through his hair as he spoke, but there was nothing sinister about him. Nothing suspicious. Just an angry restless man trying to untangle the red tape surrounding Eli McIntyre's place.

"Well, if it's the best you can do, then it'll be fine," he said, his voice edged in irritation. "I'll expect him in a couple hours." As he faced her again, his gaze caught hers and his lips turned downward in agitation. He handed her the phone.

"Everything okay?"

He made a sound of deprecation in the back of his throat. "Looks like the cavalry's decided to come to the rescue after all. Thanks."

"No problem..." She heard the bus. The growl of the huge engine was distinctive, and for the first time in her life, she hoped that Jon had caught a ride from another kid and was cruising around town. She didn't want him showing up while O'Rourke was still here, though she didn't really understand why. She wasn't so lucky. Glancing at the road, she caught a glimpse of the mustard-colored school bus flas.h.i.+ng through the thicket of scrub pines at the end of the drive. Gravel crunched as huge tires slowed and the doors whooshed open.

Jon, backpack slung over one shoulder, loped through the play of shadows on the rock driveway as the bus lumbered away. Houndog, who had spent the better part of the afternoon waiting at the mailbox for Jon, barked wildly, darting through the woods and flus.h.i.+ng out pheasants and gra.s.shoppers in his path.

"Hey, Mom, guess what?" Jon called before spying the truck in the drive and the man on the front porch. The smile on his face, a smile she hadn't seen in days, evaporated when his gaze landed full-force on O'Rourke. "Who're you?" he asked.

"This is our new neighbor, Daegan O'Rourke. My son, Jon." Her lungs suddenly constricted painfully.

Daegan offered a hand, but Jon ignored it.

"What's he doing here?"

"Jon," Kate said sharply though she knew, he, too, had a million questions, all tied into his nightmares. "Mr. O'Rourke just came by to use the phone. He's moved into the McIntyre place and his isn't connected yet."

Daegan leaned against a post supporting the roof. "And you must be the guy who's been stopping by and taking care of old Eli's dog."

The color faded from Jon's face and a wary look settled in his eyes.

"Jon?" Kate's eyebrows inched upward though she shouldn't have been surprised. Jon had been taking more than his share of long walks lately. He missed the old man-the only grandfather type he'd ever known. "Have you been over there?"

"No harm done," Daegan cut in, his gaze never leaving her son's face. "Someone needed to look after the hound."

"Yeah, old Roscoe wouldn't leave after the funeral and so I-"

"You didn't tell me," Kate said, learning more about her boy each day and wondering how she would ever retrieve the reins of control that continually slid through her fingers.

"You would've called animal control," Jon accused her.

"The dog's old, Jon," Kate said softly. "And vicious."

"And he doesn't deserve to be put to sleep! Just because Eli died doesn't mean that Roscoe-"

"It's all right," Daegan said. "You can keep comin' over and seein' him if you want. To tell you the truth, the dog won't have a thing to do with me. I think he'd just as soon rip my throat open than lick my hand."

Jon's eyes narrowed. He looked from his mother to Daegan again, as if expecting some kind of conspiracy. "You mean it?"

"Hold on..." Kate interjected. Right now, with the frightening visions Jon had been having, he needed to stay close to home. And she wasn't sure she could trust this stranger. Not yet O'Rourke offered a hard smile. "I bought some dog food in town, but Roscoe-that's his name, right?" Jon nodded slowly. "Old Roscoe won't go near it. Acts like I'm trying to poison him." He lifted a shoulder. "Maybe I bought the wrong brand."

"He doesn't like anybody."

"Great," O'Rourke said sarcastically. "Just what I need. Another headache."

"You're gonna keep him?" Jon was suspicious.

The cowboy lifted a shoulder. "If he doesn't die on me or take a chunk out of my leg first. Maybe you could come over and show him that I'm okay."

"I don't know," Kate said quickly. This was all happening fast. Way too fast. "I don't think-"

"Oh, come on, Mom, please." Jon was suddenly pleading.

"Something about this doesn't feel right-"

O'Rourke straightened and rubbed one shoulder. "Well, it would help me out. I think Jon might've left some of his things over at the house."

Jon froze and he looked at the ground. Hot color washed up the back of his neck.

"What things?" Kate asked, bracing herself. These days it seemed as if her son had another life-entirely separate from her own. She couldn't imagine what kind of stash Jon was hiding from her, but she was certain she was about to find out.

"Well, I just a.s.sumed they were his. A jackknife and a comic book or two, deck of cards, that kind of thing. No big deal. It's just that I'm cleaning things up and I didn't want to throw out anything valuable."

Jon lifted his eyes slowly, studying the man before him.

"Tell ya what, Jon. I'll save them for you, and next time you come over to see the dog, you can pick 'em up. Fair enough?"

Kate watched as Jon's eyebrows flattened into one thoughtful line. "Fair enough."

Daegan extended his hand again, and this time Jon took it, his gaze locking with the uncompromising stare of their new neighbor.

"Good."

For a second Jon just stood there shaking O'Rourke's hand then quickly yanked his fingers away and his voice was the barest of whispers when he asked, "Who are you?"

"I told you. My name's-"

"I know what you said." Jon's nostrils quivered and a breeze lifted the hair that fell over his eyes. "But you're lying. Who are you and why are you here?"

Kate's muscles flexed. "Jon, Mr. O'Rourke-" Her voice gave out as she saw her son back up a step and lick his lips nervously. The hairs on her nape lifted in sudden premonition and her insides turned to mush. Oh, G.o.d, no. Oh, G.o.d, no.

"You killed someone," Jon said, his voice shaking, his color bleached away by fear. "You killed someone, didn't you, someone you cared about!"

Daegan held the boy's gaze steadily, didn't even flinch. "What the devil are you talking about?"