Deadly Games (35 page)

* * * *

December 1; 3:45 p.m. Ian sat beside his brother’s hospital bed. He’d been here for two hours. Everyone else had something to do today, but he knew they’d all be by later.

Roth was released last week and had to go through rehab. The chest wound had not been nearly as severe as it could have been, thank goodness. He was on the mend and on paid leave, which the stubborn ass had argued about.

Ian leaned up and grabbed his brother’s hand.

Quinlan had awakened from his semi coma state earlier this week. But he still had long episodes of sleep, with only brief spurts of alertness.

Why, Ian didn’t understand. Since she’d used a new combination of chemicals, no one really knew what the outcome would be.

But Quin, when awake, knew them all and spoke a bit. So that was a good sign.

He knew his brother wasn’t awake now, but still he talked. He had to. The guilt was eating him up inside. No one blamed him.

But he did.

“Hey buddy. You really should wake up. Your schedules and time sheets and what all nots are going all to hell.” He waited, but Quin didn’t wake up. “And I went by your office. Place is a wreck. With you gone this long, the whole place is just going to hell.”

One corner of Quin’s mouth kicked up under the oxygen hose still in his nose.

“Your secretary quit,” Ian said.

Quin opened his eyes. Licking his lips, he said, “She did not. She came by before you did.”

Ian stared at his brother, bit down until pain shot up his jaw and began to hum at the base of his skull.

“You just like laying there?” he asked.

Quinlan snorted. “Real fun.” He tried to shift.

“How you feeling?”

Quinlan closed his eyes. “Ever been run over?”

“No.”

“I think this is what it might feel like.”

Silence settled between them. Quin’s hand tightened his head before his voice whispered, “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Ian shook his head. “No. I should have watched closer.”

“As Mom had been preaching, if I’d come around more, I’d have known what was going on.”

And if Ian had paid closer attention, things would have turned out differently.

“I’m sorry,” Quin said.

“Don’t.”

He opened his eyes. “I will.” He blinked slowly. “I let the viper into our family.”

“No you didn’t. I did.”

“You always had to have your way. I remember that now.”

226

Ian smiled. “Yeah, well.”

“What happened that night? No one will tell me.” Quin’s hand tightened even more on his and his eyes, so like their mother’s bore into him.

Ian took a deep breath. “You sure you want to know? I’m not going to tell you if you’re only going to lay here, beat yourself up and feel sorry for yourself.”

“Cold bastard.”

Ian nodded. “I am that.”

“Tell me.”

“She drugged you, almost killed you, strapped a bomb to your chest, got you into the house under the guise you were sick. Shot Roth, and then held everyone hostage…”

He trailed off, the anger still fresh and hot.

“And?” Quinlan asked.

“Yes, well, then my wife showed up and decided to take matters into her own hands.” He was still pissed at her for that stupid stunt.

Quinlan took a deep breath, shook his head, and gave Ian a small smile. “You two are perfect for each other.

Ian grunted.

They lapsed back into silence.

Ian rubbed his forehead. “You need anything?”

Quinlan’s eyes were closed again. “Yeah.”

“What?”

Those eyes opened and were clearer than he’d seen them since Quin had first awakened. “Tell me where the bitch is.”

Well, then. “Dead.”

“Dead?”

“You want details? I don’t have them, but I’m sure I can get them.”

Quin shook his head. “Christ. I don’t want to know, no. Just … just.…” His hand fisted. “Damn it. I slept with the woman.”

“Yeah, so did I.”

Quin frowned. “Are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

Ian chuckled. “If it’s any consolation, I think she liked you better. She said you were marvelous.”

Quin closed his eyes and waved towards Ian. “Go away.”

Ian waited a minute, then rose from the uncomfortable chair. “I am sorry, Quinlan.

Sorrier than I can ever say and just can’t figure out a way to make it right.”

“And people say I worry too damn much.” He opened his eyes and still the clear brilliance shone through them, the sharp intelligence.

Just as Ian suspected. Quinlan was hiding.

“I don’t blame you, Ian. And like a coward, I did try. I was pissed.” He shook his head. “But I’m more pissed at myself. I’m so fucking mad I can’t think straight. I just don’t know how to get around that.”

Ian studied him a moment. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself for one. I’m an ass, I know that. But, I won’t let her win you over in any damn way, shape, or form. And if you blame yourself, feel sorry for yourself, hide behind a fake front, you let her win.”

For a long moment, Quin’s angry green eyes pierced him. Then he said, “When 227

you can follow that advice you just gave me, let me know.” He leaned back against the pillow and sighed.

Probably enough for one day. And damn it, if the kid wasn’t right on that lost shot.

Ian smiled as he left his brother’s room. Quinlan would be all right.

And Ian wasn’t going to let the darkness win any part of them. Some jobs were simply never done.

228

Christmas Eve

Ian, Rori and Darya had returned the day before from an extended trip in Florida and the Caribbean.

They were home with Jock and Kaitlyn for the holidays and probably a while after--if Ian could find a way to live with that--until he and Rori found their own place.

He’d decided that D.C. would be the best place for their American office of K.B.

Securites.

His parents were in town picking up Quinlan and driving him out here. He knew what his brother must think of that.

As the quiet of the day settled around him, he wondered what Rori would think of her present. He’d debated over jewelry, even went so far as to buy and wrap a pair of ruby earrings. But then, he decided it just wasn’t her. So he bought her a SIG P222. Of course, she’d have to then regale him with the fact it would never equal her Walther, but that made things interesting. He’d bought Darya anything that caught his eye from clothing, to toys, to ride-on outdoor equipment. He’d learned her real name was Ayrena Vacladova.

Parents died in a plane accident. He was still trying to find the aunt who was guardian of little Ayrena, who is five, and her older sister Zoy, fourteen. As yet, there was no sign of the aunt or her rumored boyfriend.

Just the thought brought the anger back, but he ignored it and sipped his coffee.

All he needed was time, and he’d find them.

She was Darya now. A new life. A new beginning, leaving the pain and old memories behind, as much as she could. He and Rori were looking into child psychologists. Gavin gave him the name of the one Ryan saw. He’d have to check the woman out first before he let Darya see her.

Darya Lenora Kinncaid, so her adoption papers said. He smiled out over the winter scene beyond the window, cold and grey, the clouds low, the trees bare.

Rori and Darya were around the house somewhere.

“Oh, there ye are,” Becky’s voice drew his attention from the window and his own musings.

“What can I do for you, Becky?”

She tossed a package to him and he caught it one handed. Becky muttered about cooking and mail service. He didn’t quite catch it all.

Across the front of the Express envelope was his name and this address.

Something prickled under his skin.

He took the package to his father’s office to open it in private.

Damn good thing too. Glossy photos slid out and into his hands. Not what anyone wanted to see caught forever on a freeze frame. The photographs were not for the faint of heart. There were four eliminations in all. Three males and one female. Two of the males 229

matched those in the crime video they’d taken the night they’d found Darya. The two men who murdered her sister and went after her.

Eliminated.

The other male he didn’t recognize, but the woman he did. Darya’s aunt.

Anger licked its way through him at being denied his own justice.

Ian shook the envelope and a paper fluttered out.

He sighed, pissed and yet strangely enough, through the anger, flowed a current of relief. The note only read. “Take care of my daughter and granddaughter.--N”

The notorious Nikko. Who Ian suspected was none other than Nickolas Morano.

British Italian who worked the Cold Wars, only to drop off the scene to become more of a shadow than he was before when he was paid to not be seen. Morana had so many kills marked to him, Ian could safely say, in comparison, he was an amateur. He had yet to meet Nikko, though he’d talked to the man twice in the last month. Nikko was always cordial, polite and yet warning at the same time. Ian rather liked him.

Great.

Hell.

He picked up the phone and dialed John.

“What?” Johnno asked.

“You know that search I wanted you to continue to work on?”

“To which particular search would you be referring?”

“The one where I wanted you to find the men who killed Darya’s sister and the people who sold her to begin with.”

“Ah, yes.”

He looked at the gruesome black and whites on the desk, picked them up and shoved them in the envelope. After he showed them to Rori, he’d destroy them. “Forget it.”

“Do what?”

He blew a breath out and raked his hand through his hair. “It’s a done issue. A wedding present.”

“Who the hell from?”

“Rori’s father.”

A movement from the doorway drew his attention.

“What about my father?” she asked from the doorway.

He shut the phone, hanging up on Johnno, and turned to her. “He took care of our ongoing argument.”

She frowned. “Ongoing argument?”

“Darya, her past, closure.”

Those perfectly arched brows rose. “Oh.”

“That’s all she says? Oh?” He pulled her to him and kissed her. He figured for them, this was as normal as it got.

THE END