Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(130)

Connor shrugged. "Where's your faithful sidekick?"

"Miles? I left him down in the city. He wanted to worship at Cindy's shrine. He's fried. It hurts my heart to see it." Sean circled the table, studying his brother. "Miles is a good guy," he went on. "I'm thinking of hiring him. He could deal with the techno-nerd side of my business, and leave me free for the fun stuff."

"Good idea." Connor tried to sound enthusiastic.

"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 f*cking 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, *!" 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."