The Choice (11 page)

He couldn’t believe Hafner was serious, but he had to be sure. “You really think our people are prepared to handle them?”

“They’d better be, but that’s your job. You make sure we have what we need.”

“I’ll need figures on quantity and space required.”

Hafner nodded. “I’ll get them to you tomorrow or the next day.”

He’s really going to do it.
The bastard was insane. He’d damn sure upped the ante on the operation. Not only was the stuff lethal, but Hafner would get the book thrown at him if he were caught.

And he would be caught this time. Cullinane would make sure of it. He’d lock Hafner up and throw away the key himself.

Cullinane met the gaze of a madman, wily as a fox but dangerous as they came, a true sociopath. The lives of most other human beings meant nothing to him and his ilk.

Jesus, he was tired. Slapping his palms down on his thighs, Cullinane rose. “Well, I’m calling it a day. Unless you have something else?”

Hafner studied him for a moment, smiling oddly. “Jillian is lovely, isn’t she?”

He refused to rise to the bait. “I suppose.”

Hafner’s smile was at odds with the gleam in his gaze. “Sweet dreams, watchdog.”

Words unspoken passed between them.

“I’m sure they will be. Good night.” He turned and left.

* * *

Jillian heard the fight break out in the game room the next day. Headed down the hall to see why J.T. and Rabbit were going after each other, she’d almost turned the corner when she heard the deep voice cut through the fracas like a hot knife through butter.

She couldn’t hear the words, but Rabbit’s protest came through, loud and clear, followed by J.T.’s own. Cullinane’s tone of command stopped them before they could get rolling again.

Rabbit’s sullen shout echoed, “Fine, just fine. I’m outta here.”

Stepping back into the library next door, Jillian saw the boy rush past, face screwed up in anger. Before she could make her way back into the hall, she heard Cullinane and J.T. headed her way.

She hadn’t seen him at all that day. He’d even changed his workout time to avoid her. He wasn’t likely to want to see her now.

J.T.’s voice quavered, “I’ll show him who’s bad.”

“Are you so sure you can’t talk it out?” Cullinane asked.

Jillian’s jaw dropped. Mr. My-Way-or-the-Highway was talking compromise?

“He’d never listen. He only understands fighting.”

“Fighting rarely solves anything, J.T. There’s usually a better way.”

J.T.’s skepticism came through in his tone. “I never thought I’d hear you say something soft like that.”

Cullinane chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with being soft sometimes.”

Jillian sat down before she could fall down.

“You’re never soft,” J.T. said.

“I’m not saying I’m any example to follow, J.T.” Sadness crept into Cullinane’s voice. “The best man I ever knew was strong enough to be soft sometimes.”

“Was that your dad?”

“No. It was my grandfather. I never knew my dad.”

“I did, but mine don’t care what happens to me. He left us a long time ago, after Mary Beth came.” His voice lowered. “I was too much trouble.”

“I doubt it was you. Maybe he cares. Sometimes people just make mistakes. He’d care if he could see you now.”

“I wouldn’t give that asshole the time of day.”

“Then that’s your loss, and his, too, if you ever get the chance and let it pass. You can’t live your life looking back over your shoulder, though. You have to go on from where you are now. And where you are, J.T., is that your mother needs you. She’s taken care of all of you by herself for a long time now. You’re older. You need to be helping her, not hanging out with losers like Rabbit.”

“Rabbit’s no loser—he can beat anybody around.”

“That’s not the measure of a real man.”

“Then what is?”

“A real man takes care of his responsibilities, doesn’t let down those who care about him, those he cares for.”

Jillian held her breath, hearing in those words something deep within the man himself.

But who did Cullinane care for? Who cared for him? She’d never met a more solitary man. Knowing that, and hearing his words, gave her a deeper understanding of the somber shadows she’d sensed.

“I can’t make much money to help my mom. I’m only twelve.”

“Money isn’t the key. What your mom needs is for you to be an example for the younger ones. Adam watches every move you make, and the girls need your guidance, too. Haven’t you noticed that they’re afraid of Rabbit and of how you act when you’re with him?”

“No, I—I never thought about it.”

“Let me tell you something, J.T. When I was your age, I was the biggest badass around. All puffed up with my swagger and how nobody could tell me nothin’ about nothin’.”

Jillian smiled as his cadence brought a young, dark-haired wild boy to life in her mind.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. You think that sounds great, right? Well, let me tell you something. I almost got my best friend killed with my swaggering because I was like Rabbit, too mixed up in my head to see the dead-end I was walking down. And like you, I was mad at the whole world because I’d been given a rough turn. I had no dad, I lived in a shack, and nobody cared if I lived or died except one old man.”

His tone quieted. “They hauled my best friend to the hospital, bleeding from a stab wound that hit real close to his heart in a fight with some guys I wouldn’t back down from. The cop who brought me home told my grandfather that he’d be smart to let them take me into foster care. He said I’d never be anything but misery for him.”

Jillian found herself leaning forward.

“So what did your grandfather do?”

“First, he blistered my butt so hard I couldn’t sit down until the next afternoon.”

“And then?”

“And then he hugged me. Hugged me so hard I could barely breathe. And he told me something I’ve never forgotten.”

“What?”

“Sometimes the strongest person is the one who walks away.”

It was difficult to believe that she was listening to the same hardass who was so determined to get rid of her.

But the compassion she heard in his voice as he reached out to a troubled boy was another face of a complex man. A man of deep feelings, hidden by a very tough shell.

A shell that had cracked open last night long enough to singe her to her toes.

A complex man, indeed. Jillian shook her head, fingers pressed to her lips, wishing she hadn’t heard this conversation. It only made it harder to resist him.

“You, uh, you think I should stay away from Rabbit, huh?”

“No. I don’t, not necessarily.”

“You don’t?”

“You have to make your own decisions, J.T. That’s part of becoming a man. But remember that who you surround yourself with is a measure of who you are and who you want to be. Make your choices count.” She heard him start to walk. “But for now, how about shooting some hoops with me in the gym?”

“Yeah!” No more world-weary tones from J.T. 

And then they were gone, leaving Jillian to wonder who this man really was.
Who you surround yourself with is a measure of who you are and who you want to be.

He was here, with the man who killed her sister.

She rose slowly from the chair and left the room, her forehead wrinkled, her mind racing.

* * *

Jillian arrived at the gym early the next morning, raw with fatigue from an uneasy night. The man who stood most squarely in the way of a goal she’d banked everything on had interfered with her sleep, as well.

Tossing and turning, she’d foolishly wished that she and Cullinane had met some other place, some other time. He fascinated her. She’d seen the smooth exterior, but it was the jumble underneath that captivated her.

Before yesterday, she’d never have dreamed that he would handle J.T. with such care. That he’d handle J.T. at all, for that matter, regardless of what Alice had said. The man who’d spoken of his grandfather with such longing in his voice was a man she wanted to know. The man who’d guided J.T. to walk away from a fight was at odds with the man who’d sicced two toughs on her as she lay sleeping.

Jillian struggled to relax as she stretched. She didn’t understand him—and couldn’t afford to try. So why couldn’t she just forget him and get on with the task at hand?

Because the task you set yourself is not going according to plan.

She’d never counted on this taking so long. She’d never planned to meet Alice and wonder what would happen to her and her four children if Hafner died. She’d never envisioned wondering if Fred’s days drove him crazy because he had to be so inactive.

But most of all, she’d never counted on Cullinane.

And that might be the most deadly omission of all.

Hafner was still Hafner, college funds or no. He was a merchant of death and needed to vanish from the earth. Cullinane protected that amoral killer, yet he kissed her with an intensity that set her every nerve on fire. He taunted and tested her at every turn, doing everything in his power to break her, yet he helped a confused young boy off the path to destruction with a firm, gentle hand.

Jillian balled up her t-shirt and threw it at her reflection in the mirror. It floated to the floor, ineffectual as she herself had been so far.

“What are you doing here, Jillian?” she asked her reflection.

“I’d be interested in the answer.”

She jolted.

Cullinane stood in the doorway. “What
are
you doing here, MacGregor?”

“It seems obvious, since I’m in the gym.” She scanned his sweat-soaked t-shirt. “You’re ahead of me this morning.”

“I decided to run first.”
So I’d miss meeting you here.

He thought Jillian looked tired, not her usual spunky self. Cullinane wondered if her nights were as sleepless as his. He hoped so. He didn’t want to be the only one off-balance.

Swiftly she pivoted and climbed on the stair stepper. He considered going back outside or skipping his workout altogether—but he couldn’t avoid her forever. He’d faced down cold-blooded killers with less trepidation than he felt seeing her again after losing control with her like that.

And now, watching her from the rear, seeing those long legs, that taut, delicious behind in motion...hell.
Work, Drake. Sweat her out if you have to. But get this obsession with her out of your mind.

The mirrors made it too easy to see her from anywhere in the room, so he hit the floor to do push-ups. He was safe from her reflection while he was staring downward.

Jillian focused on the mirrors in front of her, trying to look anywhere but at the powerful ropes of muscles in his arms, across his back. His already-wet shirt clung like a second skin, revealing the ripple of strength as though he were naked.

She closed her eyes and climbed, digging for the anger that had protected her in the beginning. She wished she’d never heard his conversation with J.T. She didn’t want to know that he could be gentle. She wanted to remember the ruthless bastard and keep herself on target.

Anger simmered, and she nursed it like the only flame in a world of winter, begging it to keep her alive, in tune with her mission.

When she found herself watching him again, she jammed a finger on the panel, setting the pace higher.
You’re not pushing hard enough, if you have energy to think.
That was the answer, to work until she dropped, and push to find a way to get Hafner alone, very soon.

And get out of this place before Cullinane makes you forget why you’re here at all.

Time passed in silence. Cullinane studiously avoided looking at her, working his way through each set of reps with the concentration of a drone, the precision of a machine, trying to forget she was in the same room...

Until he heard her quiet gasp.

He crossed to her quickly. “Give it to me,” he ordered, standing behind her to lift the bar out of her hands, then settling it carefully in the rack above her head.

She faced him, hands on hips, eyes bright with anger. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“If you’d had any sense at all, you’d have asked me to spot you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“That’s obvious. What the hell are you doing, upping the weight that much?”

“How do you know I’ve upped it?”

“I notice a lot of things about you, Jillian.” His voice went husky against his will.

“Don’t.” She whipped around, giving him her back.

“Don’t what?”

Her eyes met his in the mirror, anguished and confused. “Just...don’t.” She reached for the bar again.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s obvious,” she snapped. “I’m finishing my set.”

“Take off some plates.”

“Go to hell.” She grasped the bar firmly, preparing to lift it off the rack.

“Don’t do it, Jillian.” He couldn’t interrupt her motion once she started. She’d definitely hurt herself.

“Get out of my way.”

He stood right behind her, ready to catch it. “You’re not doing this alone.” He softened his tone. “If you insist on adding the extra weight, let me help you.”

She didn’t answer, but he saw the concession in her eyes. Keeping the smallest distance between them that would still allow her to lower herself into the squat, he fitted his body to hers like spoons in a drawer, mirroring her every action, arms out and ready to catch the bar if she faltered.

With slow, steady motion downward, she bent, her behind brushing the air so close to his groin he hardened in an instant. Their bodies fit together too well.

Carefully he watched her every movement, letting his body follow hers in the rhythm she set, molding himself to her as if half of one whole.

Jillian could barely concentrate on isolating her muscles, so aware was she of the feel of him at her back. They fell into sync, Cullinane matching her motions so perfectly that she felt strengthened by his presence, safe and protected.

When her muscles screamed at the burn, she lifted the bar toward the rack, but her arms trembled. Immediately he took the weight from her and replaced the bar.

Then he pulled her back against his hard chest.