Standing in the Shadows (54 page)

"I think so, too. Only condition is, I have to teach him how to fight."

Connor made a neutral sound.

"I know," Sean said. "It's going to be a job. His muscle tone is about on par with Puffy the Marshmallow Man." He pulled out a chair, sat down and waited. "Out with it."

Connor rubbed his stinging eyes. "Novak is dead, they say. Blown up yesterday. Someplace near Marseilles."

Sean tapped his fingers, waiting. "Am I missing something?" he asked. "Is that not what we were praying for? It that any reason to sit alone in the dark with a bottle of scotch?"

"It's great news for Erin and the rest of the world," he said wearily. "It's only bad news for me."

"Why?"

Connor winced at his brother's sharp tone. A headache was gathering like storm clouds in the back of his skull. "Because it means I'm seeing and hearing shit that's not there," he said. "I saw Georg on that highway. I heard Novak's voice on the telephone. Now Billy Vega gets beaten to death, my cane disappears out of the trunk of my car, and you know what? I've got this really scary feeling that it's going to turn up somewhere with Billy Vega's blood all over it. I am up shit creek without even a fucking boat, let alone a paddle. And they tell me Novak's dead. What do you say, Sean? What's wrong with this picture?"

Sean's face was rigid. "They can't pin Billy Vega on you. No way."

"Sure they can. If Novak's dead, I'm looking at several unpleasant possibilities. Brain damage from the head injury that they didn't notice before they cut me loose, that's the most appetizing of the lot. Worst case scenario? I've snapped. I really am going nuts. Like Dad."

"Don't say that." Sean's voice shook. "Don't even say the words. You are nothing like Dad. Nothing."

"Who knows? Maybe I did kill Billy and I don't remember doing it," Connor said wearily. "Anything's possible."

"You didn't even know his address, asshole!" Sean yelled. "We never told you! You were too busy dealing with your girlfriend's family!"

Connor shook his head. "Maybe if I'm lucky, I can plead insanity and end up in a padded cell instead of—oof!"

Sean grabbed him by his shirtfront, hauled him up off his chair and slammed him hard against the kitchen wall. Kevin's drawing of a waterfall fell to the floor. The glass in the frame shattered.

"That's not going to happen," Sean said.

Connor blinked into his younger brother's eyes, shocked out of his own despair by the stark fear he sensed behind
Sean's fury. He tried to put his arms around his brother. "Hey. Sean. Chill. It's not—"

"Don't you dare say that to me! Not after two months of hell when you were in the coma. I almost lost you, Con. I can't go through it again. Not after losing Kevin."

"OK, Sean," he soothed. "Let me loose. Relax."

"You are not crazy!" Sean's fist pressed painfully hard against Connor's windpipe. "You are just a depressed, melodramatic dickhead!"

"OK!" Connor yelled. "Whatever you say. I'm a dickhead. Stop strangling me. I don't want to have to hit you."

"Yeah, like you could get in a punch at me, in the state you're in. Listen, Con. Get this straight. Nobody's going to lock you up. Because if anybody tries to hurt you, I will kill them."

The bone-deep sincerity in Sean's voice chilled him. Connor dug his hands into his brother's spiky blond hair and cradled his head.

"No, Sean. You're not going to kill anybody, so don't talk like that. Calm down." He used the same mellow, hypnotic tone he and Davy had used to talk Sean down from his freak-outs back when Sean had been a hyper little kid bouncing off the walls. "You're flying off the handle, buddy. You can't do this anymore. You're a grown-up now."

Sean let Connor drop from his tiptoes down onto his feet. His shoulders slumped. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry," he warned.

Connor rubbed his sore neck. "Too bad. I forgive you anyway. Snot-nosed punk."

"You provoked me. Talking like you don't care if they lock you up. Fuck you, Con. Maybe you don't care, but I do."

"I won't say it again," Connor said quietly. He retrieved the waterfall drawing, and picked shards of glass out of the frame. "I promise."

"I'm not just acting out to get attention, like the old days.
I'm dead serious. You, in a cage? Not an option. No way. You get my drift?"

"Sean, you can't talk like that. This isn't the Wild West—"

"Davy's going to feel the same way," Sean said. "Davy makes like he's Mr. Cool, but he'd slit the throat of anybody who hurt you. Without even blinking. So would Seth, for that matter."

Connor laid the picture down. "You're scaring me, Sean."

"I'm just telling you how it is. It's not just you alone on your white horse riding into the sunset, asshole. You get hurt, we get hurt. Got it?"

Connor nodded obediently and dropped into the chair. His knees were trembling. "Uh, you want a shot of whiskey? It'll mellow you out."

Sean frowned. "Things are too weird right now," he said. "We need to sharpen up, not chill out. I want coffee. You could use some, too, from the looks of you. And a shower, and a fresh shirt. You have a girlfriend now. You've got to make more of an effort."

The look on Connor's face made Sean freeze as he reached up for the coffeepot. His face tightened. "Oh, no. What's up with Erin?"

"Nothing," Connor muttered.

"What kind of nothing?" Sean persisted.

The memory of last night replayed in his mind in one cold, hard, sickening whoosh, like a punch to the gut.

"The bad kind," he admitted. "The worst kind."

Sean grabbed the coffeepot. "That sucks," he said grimly. "We're in for it now. What happened?"

Connor suppressed a sharp retort. Sean was on edge today, and he didn't have the energy to cope with another outburst. "Nick told her I was nuts. He told her I was a murder suspect. And she doesn't appreciate getting dragged into what she sees as a wacko paranoid fantasy. Christ, who could blame her. She's got enough problems."

Sean measured coffee into the espresso pot. He flipped on the gas and turned his hard gaze onto his brother. "So? That's it? End of story?"

Talking about it left a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. "She told me to get lost, Sean. She thinks I'm mentally unbalanced."

"And that means you're going to give up? Just like that?"

Connor looked at him, and threw up his hands in silent eloquence.

Sean paced restlessly around the kitchen. "You know what, Con? I remember the night you first met that girl."

Connor knew his brother too well not to mistrust that light, casual tone. "Do you, now?" he said warily.

"I sure do. It wasn't long after you got recruited into the undercover unit. Back when you were still starry-eyed and heavy into the mystique of your new job. A year or so after Kevin was killed. Davy was just about to ship out for Desert Storm."

"Your memory is freaky," Connor commented.

"Yeah, just like yours, except that yours is selective. Let me finish my story. So you come back from dinner at Ed's house one night, all bug-eyed and quiet. And when I ragged you to find out what was up, you said, hey, leave me alone. It's a big day. I just met my future bride."

Connor went cold. "I said that?"

"Yeah, you said that," Sean said. "It knocked me on my ass. You said, Ed Riggs's daughter is so pretty, I can't even believe the stupid shit I said. Probably Riggs's wife thinks I'm a retard. Only problem is, she's seventeen years old."

"You're making this up," Connor said.

"Cross my heart," Sean said. "This scene is engraved in stone in my memory. So I say to you, You filthy perv. That's going to go over real good at your new job, lusting after your colleague's teenage daughter. And you know what you said to me?"

Connor braced himself. "What did I say?"

"You said, No problem, man. I'll wait for her." Sean glared at him.

"I said that?" Connor said numbly.

"Yeah! You said that! And I thought you were joking! But you weren't! You fucking weren't joking!"

The coffeepot began to gurgle and hiss, but Sean was locked in his indignant pose. Connor reached past him and shut off the gas. "Don't blow this all out of proportion," he muttered. "It's not like I kept myself pure for ten years, for God's sake."

"Oh, yes, you did." Sean put a sharp, vicious emphasis on every word. "Sure, you fucked some other women now and then, but that's as far as it went. Am I right? Answer me, goddamn it!"

Connor thought about all the times he'd gently broken things off whenever the woman he was seeing started talking about the future.

Ouch. Not much point in denying it. "Calm down, Sean," he said. "I don't have the energy for another big scene right now."

"Don't tell me to calm down! Don't tell me that you've dreamed about this girl for a decade, you save her from a fate worse than death, you survive her conniving asshole of a father, you rescue her sister from the Fuckhead, you win over the homicidal mother-in-law, you finagle your way into her bed, and you're giving up now?"

"She thinks I'm nuts, Sean!" Connor yelled.

"So convince her that you're not!" Sean bellowed back. "You are never going to be happy if you let this go, and I hate it! I can't stand to watch you waste away again!"

Their furious gazes locked. Connor was the first to look away. "I've got to make sure I'm not crazy for real before I get near her again," he said heavily. "I've created enough chaos in her life. I don't want to pile something like that on her shoulders, too. That would be cruel."

Sean's mouth tightened. He poured the coffee and handed
Connor a cup. "Weren't you with Erin when Vega got whacked?"

"No. I was with her until around five a.m. Then I sneaked outside."

"Why the hell did you do that?" Sean demanded.

"I was afraid of her mother," Connor admitted. "You saw that Jag. Can you blame me? I came back in around eight for breakfast."

Sean stared out the window, scowling. "Can't she just say you were with her? What does it matter, if you're innocent anyway?"

"I'm sure she would, if I asked her to," Connor said softly. "But it wouldn't be right. I don't want anything with her that's built on lies."

Sean slammed his cup down onto the counter. Scalding coffee splashed over his hand. He lunged for the sink and ran cold water over it. "Built on lies, my ass! Brainless, self-righteous idiot!"

Connor winced and covered his ears. "Please don't break anything else," he pleaded. "My head hurts. I can't stand the noise."

"You've got to shake this thing off of you, goddammit! And you've got to get that girl, too. And do you know why?"

Connor sank back into his chair, resigned. Evidently today's histrionics weren't over yet. "OK. Tell me why, Sean."

"Because you deserve it. You're a righteous dude. You're like… noble or something. With your code of honor. Your marching orders. That's why Davy and I tease you about the hero complex. It's a soft spot that can't be shielded. It leaves you wide open."

Connor sighed. "That is such a crock—"

"You're a good guy, Con," Sean trampled over his protests. "More so than Davy or me. More than anyone I know, except for maybe Jesse, and look what happened to him. You can't bend, you can't cut bait and run. You can't compromise. It's like, you don't even know how."

Connor stared down into his coffee and tried not to think about Jesse. He felt bad enough already. "Dad was like that," he pointed out. "He didn't know how to bend. So he broke."

Silence fell. The dour ghost of Eamon's memory weighed upon them. Eamon had been a good and honorable man, but he had been profoundly disillusioned by the violent insults that life had dealt him. Grief and anger had chipped away at his sanity until it was totally gone.

"You're not like Dad, Con." Sean's voice vibrated with suppressed emotion. "You're stronger than Dad was. And you're kinder, too."

Connor took a gulp of his coffee and groped around for a change of subject. The coffee itself was always a handy culprit. "Christ, Sean, how did you make this stuff so strong? It's corroding my gut."

"That's the scotch, bozo, not my coffee. Let's coat it with some food," Sean said. "Go shower while I make you some lunch."

"Don't coddle me," Connor snapped. "I can take care of my—"

"Take a shower, and put on one of my shirts. None of your limp, faded crap. You want the world to think you're sane and well-balanced? Start by shaving and combing your hair."

When Connor came back down to the kitchen, he was freshly shaven and dressed in a crisp denim shirt he'd found in Sean's closet. His brother ran a critical eye over him, and nodded. "You'll do."

Connor grunted and sat down. They honored a tacit agreement not to tear open any more raw, unspeakable topics, and since there was nothing to talk about except madness, murder, love, heartbreak, and God only knew what else, they concentrated on chewing and swallowing Sean's grilled ham and cheese sandwiches in silence.

Sean shrugged on his leather jacket afterwards. "I cooked, so you do the dishes," he announced. "I'm going to go track down Davy. We have to start turning over some rocks about that murder rap."

"Stay out of it," Connor snapped, as he followed him out to the car.

Sean dug for his keys. "Yeah, sure. As if. You should find Erin, now that you've shaved. Talk to her. Lay on that old McCloud charm."

"Charm, my ass. I sprout hair on the back of my hands whenever I get near her. Besides, she's busy with the filthy rich art fiend who wants to drape her in jewels and take her to Paris."

Sean's jaw sagged in dismay. "What? And you just let her go? Where do you keep your brains, Con? In a box under your bed?"

"She wouldn't let me go with her," Connor snarled. "Get it through your thick skull! She doesn't want me, so I can't follow her around. It's against the rules. It's called stalking. Crazy guys stalk women. I'm making a big effort not to act crazy right now. Do you follow me?"

Sean looked pained. "Yeah, but letting her go see a guy who's waving tickets to Paris? Jesus, Con. That calls for desperate measures."

"Don't get me started," he growled. "I've been going over it all night. At least she's not alone, for all the good that does. Tonia would probably cheer Mueller on. Hell, she'd probably propose a threesome."