Too Far Gone Page 12

  Reminded of his mother, Chris’s voice grew clogged with longing. “I want to go home,” he dared to whisper.

  Impatience flashed briefly in Mr. Dulay’s eyes, but he spoke in a voice that was kind and patient. “I’ve told you, Christopher, your home is here now.”

  Chris’s heart constricted with pain. He flinched with surprise when Mr. Dulay reached out unexpectedly, laying a hand on the top of his head. The man seemed truly dismayed to see him so sad. “I have good news tonight,” he announced, eyeing him closely. “Your father has been found.”

  An indistinct image of a bitter, unpredictable man came to Chris’s mind.

  “Aren’t you pleased?” Mr. Dulay queried with a quizzical smile.

  Chris didn’t want to say the wrong thing. He knew what Caleb would say, though: He ain’t my dad. Mr. Sean had been more of a father to them before he went away.

  “I’ll bring him here shortly,” Mr. Dulay added. “Then you may see him for yourself.”

  Chris gave a tiny nod of acknowledgment.

  “Now, let’s see here.” The gentleman reached into the pocket of his lightweight blazer. “What have I got for you tonight?” With a sphinxlike smile, he withdrew a magnifying glass and handed it over. “You’ll need this,” he predicted, “to examine some very old documents I’ll be bringing with me in the future. Keep it from your brother,” he added, glancing at Caleb, who was snoring loudly.

  “Thank you,” Chris murmured.

  “I will leave you to your reading now,” Mr. Dulay decided, pushing to his feet. “Until tomorrow,” he promised on his way to the door. “I’ll be later than usual. I have a meeting to attend first. Good night, my boy,” he called from the door.

  “Good night.”

  As the door shut, Chris looked over at his brother. “I know you’re awake,” he said.

  Caleb stopped snoring. His blue eyes snapped open.

  “Did you hear?” Chris asked him.

  “Yep,” said Caleb, pushing up on one elbow. “He’s lyin’ again,” he predicted. He also refused to believe that their mother was dead.

  “I don’t know,” said Chris, glancing down at his book. “He’s weird. I keep thinkin’ he knows something he’s not telling us.”

  Caleb rolled out of bed. “Lemme see that magnifier,” he demanded, taking it out of Chris’s hands. “Maybe we could use it to send a distress signal.”

  “Stop lookin’ for ways to escape,” Chris scolded him. “You know it’s not going to work.”

  “Why not?” Caleb demanded.

  An odd chill tickled Chris’s scalp. “Mr. Dulay would find us, no matter what,” he finally answered, meeting Caleb’s fiery gaze. He knew it was true, though he couldn’t explain exactly why. He just knew Mr. Dulay would track them down, like the grandfather in the story he was reading.

  He wanted them for something. He especially wanted Chris.

  Sean shoved the little Peeping Tom face-first onto the hood of his car, frisked him down, and found a switchblade inside his right sock but no other weapons. With Ellie’s eyes shining like twin moons at him through the windshield, he opened the passenger door, flipped the seat forward, and pushed his captive into the backseat. Keeping his gun trained on him, he dropped into the front seat and said in his calmest voice, “Keep driving, Ellie.”

  “Where did he come from?” she squeaked, clearly realizing this was an aberration. “Why are you pointing your gun at him?”

  “Calm down, sweetheart. I’m just going to ask Drake some questions while you drive around town, nice and slowlike.”

  “I suggest you head for a different street,” the kid piped up, sounding grim but not at all intimidated. “Dulay will be home any minute.”

  Sean propped his left shoulder against the back of his seat and stared at him hard. “You’re not a homeless kid, are you?” he demanded.

  For a second, it wasn’t clear whether Drake was going to answer him. “I’m an undercover special agent with the FBI,” he announced unexpectedly.

  Sean shared a startled look with Ellie. FBI? The kid didn’t look old enough to be out of school, let alone be working for the bureau.

  “You got any proof of that?” Sean asked.

  “Not with me.”

  “Then why would I believe you?”

  “Well, for starters, I could tell you who you are.”

  Sean’s scalp tightened. He didn’t like being at a disadvantage. “Go ahead.”

  “You’re Navy SEAL Chief Petty Officer Sean Harlan, stationed with Team Twelve in Virginia Beach, person of interest in the abduction of Ellie Stuart’s three sons.”

  Ellie made an incredulous sound. Sean placed a reassuring hand on her knee. “I didn’t kidnap Ellie’s boys,” he told Drake angrily.

  “Obviously,” the man replied, snatching the wind from his sails. “You wouldn’t be here looking for them if you did.”

  “Okay, so why the fuck are you following us? Did Butler send you?”

  “I don’t know who Butler is. And I wasn’t following you today, per se. I’m investigating Owen Dulay, Skyler’s father, Consul of the Centurions.”

  Sean laughed. “The what?”

  “The Centurions. They run the shelter.”

  “Yeah, I got that part.”

  “They’re a secret society made up entirely of men. At the end of the Civil War, plantation owners banded together to recoup their losses. They started into money laundering, racketeering, and mob-related activities, all of which they hide, very successfully, behind their civic charities.”

  “Okay,” said Sean slowly. “So, what’s that got to do with us?”

  “I’m not sure,” Drake admitted. “I overheard Carl tell Ellie he had nothing to do with the kidnapping.”

  “He didn’t,” Ellie interjected on a strained note.

  “Right,” Drake replied. “He might not have kidnapped your boys, but his employer has every resource to make three boys disappear.”

  “Skyler’s father? Why would he do that for Carl?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted the young agent gravely. “I’m not saying he did. It’s just that Centurions have this book—it’s like their bible that tells them how to lead an upright life and all that. But the main emphasis is on leaving a legacy to your sons—daughters don’t count. Now, Carl’s already a Princeps Prior. That’s pretty high up in their internal hierarchy, but without sons to carry on his legacy, his status is meaningless.”

  Ellie gave a bitter laugh as she drove them around a lamp-lit square. “So suddenly Carl’s children are his legacy,” she mocked, “when a year ago he sat there drunk as a skunk, demanding to know if they were his in the first place!”

  “Easy, Ellie,” Sean advised, assessing their location with a quick sweep of his eyes. “There’s a cop right there. Watch your speed, hon.” He glanced back at Drake. “You’re saying Dulay might have helped Carl secure his legacy.”

  “Maybe,” Drake conceded.

  “Why would he break the law for his gardener?”

  “I’m not sure. All I know is that he and Carl attend the meetings together every Wednesday night at the homeless shelter. Carl even sits on his right side. Dulay obviously looks out for him, and no one really knows why.”

  A shiver of excitement sped Sean’s pulse, but Ellie’s hard profile told him she wasn’t buying it. “We need you to look into this for us,” Sean entreated, holding Drake’s dark, intelligent gaze. “Please. Ellie and I have to head back tomorrow. If Dulay is responsible for the kidnapping, and he’s that well connected . . .” He cut himself off, hating to think what it might mean. “Just keep an eye out, would you?”

  “As long as you don’t blow my cover,” Drake insisted. “Don’t tell anyone who I really am,” he demanded, seeming to forget that Sean still held a gun on him. “Not Skyler, not Carl, not even this Butler you mentioned, whom I assume is FBI. I promise I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. If I overhear anything suspicious, I’ll alert the right authorities.”

&n
bsp; Sean considered the offer. He wished Drake could do more than that, but the man had his own agenda. “Agreed,” he said, jamming his Glock back into its holster. “Sorry for the mix-up.”

  “No big deal.”

  He extended Drake a handshake and found the man’s firm grip to his liking.

  “You should drop me off here,” Drake suggested, peering outside. “Don’t want any of my homeless buddies seeing me in this car.”

  “Go ahead and pull over,” Sean instructed Ellie. He got out to set Drake free, catching him by the arm as he shot out of the back. “You catch this son of a bitch,” he told him sternly.

  “I fully intend to,” Drake said with a glitter in his eyes.

  Letting him go, Sean ducked into the passenger seat and watched him cross the street. As he loped toward the sidewalk, Drake took on a subtle slouch and a hoodlum’s cocky stride. Damn, he’s good, Sean mused.

  Turning his attention to Ellie, he found her gripping the wheel with white-knuckled hands, staring straight ahead but not looking at anything. “You want me to drive, hon?” he asked her gently.

  They were five blocks from the hotel.

  She moved a hand automatically to the stick shift. Without answering, she pulled the car into traffic, heading back toward their hotel.

  “I take it you don’t buy Drake’s theory.”

  She took a stiff right turn. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” she answered hopelessly.

  Sensitive to her distress and the real reason for it—tomorrow they were heading home without her sons—Sean pulled his cell phone from the glove box. Locating Butler’s number, he placed a call to the FBI agent.

  “Mr. Harlan.” The man sounded agitated. “It’s about time for you to head back to Virginia.”

  Sean ignored that. “You told me to call if I found Carl Stuart,” he reminded him.

  A subtle pause ensued. “Why do I get the feeling you approached him when I told you not to?”

  Sean ignored the rhetorical question and got right to the point. “He works for a man named Owen Dulay; maybe you’ve heard of him.”

  “Can’t say that I have.” A pencil drawer opened and closed. Butler was evidently working late tonight.

  “He’s the leader of a group called the Centurions.”

  “I have heard of that,” the man conceded.

  “Are you familiar with the importance they place on having male heirs?”

  “No. What are you saying?”

  “Carl’s a Centurion. He has a motive for wanting his sons back. They’re his legacy. I’m also suggesting that his employer has the means to help him pull off a well-executed abduction.”

  “And why would Mr. Dulay—that’s the name you said, right? Why would he commit a crime to help his employee?” Butler asked dubiously.

  Sean hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “Well.” Butler sounded bemused at best. “That’s an interesting theory you’ve put together, Mr. Harlan,” he admitted a little dryly. “Tell you what, I’ll run it by my supervisor and call you back. If you don’t hear from me, remember that I expect you in Virginia Beach by morning.”

  “We’ll be there,” Sean replied, ending the call. He glanced at his watch. They’d have to drive all fucking night.

  Swinging into the hotel’s parking garage, Ellie found a spot close to the elevator. As they headed wordlessly to their room, defeat sat like a cinder block on Sean’s shoulders. He’d let Ellie down. Her silent despair was heartbreaking. He knew the last thing in the world she wanted to do was go home to an empty house.

  “We need to pack,” he told her gently. “Then we’ll sleep a couple of hours before we head back.”

  She went wordlessly into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Crossing to the window, Sean nudged aside the drapes to gaze down on the street, still bustling even at this hour. Turning Drake’s suggestion over in his mind, he sought to fit the Centurion conspiracy with what he knew of the kidnapping and what he’d seen firsthand in this Southern town.

  If Owen Dulay had helped Carl abduct his kids, then who were the thugs at Isaac’s bar? Friends of Carl’s? Maybe they were fellow Centurions, followers of Owen Dulay. One was clearly an ex-convict, given that tattoo on his left knuckle. Why would a man like that want to talk to the police on the heels of an altercation? Excons were usually skittish of police. It made no sense.

  Ellie emerged quietly from the bathroom. She crossed to the bed, lay down stiffly on the mattress, and closed her eyes. Lying there so pale and pained in the lamplight, she looked just like a wounded soldier. He’d seen enough of them to know.

  “Come on, Ellie,” he cajoled, hating the defeat written on her face. “It’s not like we didn’t find out anything tonight. We know Carl’s a Centurion and his employer has the resources to help him. That’s something, right?”

  She cracked a lackluster gaze at him. “Why would a man like that help Carl get his legacy back?” she asked, spitting out the word like a curse.

  “I don’t know. To make Carl indebted to him?”

  “For what?” Ellie cut him off impatiently. “Carl doesn’t even want the boys. He told me that straight to my face, and I know he wasn’t lying. Besides, a rich man like Dulay doesn’t need gratitude. He can pay people to do his bidding.”

  True, Sean conceded to himself, but her pessimism still annoyed him. “You could at least be open to the possibility,” he argued. “There’s something strange about this place. What about those guys who wanted to jump me last night? Who were they protecting? Just Carl? I don’t think so.”

  Ellie didn’t answer. She’d gone back to looking like she wished she could die.

  “So, that’s it for you,” he taunted, approaching the bed to glare down at her. “You’d rather just assume some faceless pedophiles took your kids?”

  Her eyes snapped open and her fists clenched. “They weren’t faceless, damn you!” she raged, stiff as a board. “Don’t you think I see those men every time I close my eyes? And when I do, I think, ‘Why didn’t I stop them from taking my boys away from me?’ ” She raised both her fists and shook them at herself.

  He wasn’t immune to her self-blame, but the fire flashing in her eyes and the color surging to her cheeks sparked his own frustrations. He was a man of action, used to getting results, hitting his mark every time, only in this case, when there was no clear target, he had failed. “Poor Ellie,” he lashed back, giving as good as he got. “She’s the only person in the world who’s ever had her heart broken.”

  With a gasp of outrage, she jackknifed to a sitting position. “How dare you!” she shouted.

  “Oh, I dare,” he assured her. “You’re the one who’s giving up on your boys.”

  Growling with fury, she snatched up the closest object within reach—the guest information binder—and hurled it at him, striking him hard on the shoulder.

  “Ow!” He jumped back, rubbing the tender spot.

  “How dare you mock me!” Ellie shouted, leaping out of the bed. She went nose-to-nose with him, shoving him with both hands as she added, “You don’t have children!” Tears sparkled in her eyes as she added hoarsely, “You have no idea how I feel!”

  “Is that right?” Sean countered, feeling his own temper simmer. He grabbed her wrists to keep her from shoving him again and locked them behind her back, which brought their hips flush. A spark of lust sizzled up his spine as she continued to struggle. “Then you know all about Patrick,” he added before he completely lost his train of thought.

  She opened her mouth to rail at him again, only to blink in confusion. “Who?” Her suddenly husky voice told him she was just as aware of the sudden friction between them as he was.

  “Patrick,” Sean repeated. Releasing one of her wrists, he pulled his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open to his younger brother’s last high school picture.

  With a telltale pulse still fluttering at the base of her neck, Ellie examined the photo of a youth who obviously resembled Sean bu
t had a headfull of strawberry-blond curls, freckles, and a smile that was pure sunshine.

  “Your brother?” she guessed, raising wide, wet eyes at him.

  “Yeah,” he rasped, feeling grief rise up in him. Grief was like a tide that waxed and waned but never went away. “Patrick and I were Irish twins, eleven months apart. We did everything together. When he was fourteen, he was diagnosed with leukemia.”

  Ellie made a sound of dismay.

  “Back then, kids didn’t have the kind of odds they have today,” he continued. “He fought hard. He lost all his hair, lost a bunch of weight. I shaved my head so he wouldn’t be the only bald kid in school. But three years later, he had nothing left to fight with, and he died. So don’t try to tell me about loss. At least we’re still in the game here, Ellie.”

  She stared at him, aghast, her gray eyes filled with apology. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured in a strangled voice, clutching his shoulders, clearly uncertain how to comfort him. Tears pooled just above her lower lashes.

  Ah, shit. Sean tossed his wallet aside and put his arms around her. “Oh, Ellie, I didn’t tell you that to make you feel worse,” he admitted gruffly. At least she’d forgotten her anger long enough to let him hold her. Damn, but she felt good in his arms.

  She hid her face in his T-shirt, her chest heaving with deep, racking sobs that tore at Sean’s heartstrings.

  He’d wondered when it would come to this. It was a miracle she’d kept it together this long.

  And now all he could do was hold her. Hold her and hope to God the Centurions were behind the kidnapping and the FBI would find them and get them back. The Ellie he’d admired and desired would never be the same without them. The loss of her sons was the only thing bad enough to break her indomitable spirit.

  With a sniff, she lifted a tear-streaked face from his shoulder and demanded, unexpectedly, “Make love to me.”

  Feeling her pebble-hard nipples abrade his chest, his body responded powerfully. She lifted her mouth to his and kissed him, like she needed his kisses to breathe. The floor seemed to tilt and then spin as a ferocious tide of longing roared through Sean, warming him from his toes to the tips of his ears.

  Suddenly, without warning, Ellie slipped through his embrace and dropped to her knees. He watched in disbelief as she sought to release his belt with trembling fingers. Then the snap on his jeans. Oh, Jesus, she wasn’t going to go down on him just like that . . .