Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(25)

Something tightened steadily in Connor's stomach. Even though he knew this news should be making him feel better.

"I hacked into the clinic's records," Davy continued. "He couldn't make it to the meeting because he was vomiting blood, Con. Not because he was sitting in jail, plotting Erin's downfall."

Connor set down his cup. Davy's tone was flat, his voice unreadable. "Since when do you read French?" he demanded.

"I hung out in northern Africa for a while after Desert Storm, remember? They speak a lot of French in Egypt and Morocco. I picked it up. It's not hard, if you already know Spanish."

Connor stared into his coffee. So Davy knew French. His brother was full of surprises. "Wasn't it a little too easy, finding all this info?"

"Yeah, it was easy," Davy said slowly. "It's possible that it's an elaborate, fiendish plot. Anything's possible. But spending untold amounts of money to put together a cover story this complicated, all for Erin Riggs's benefit? Come on, Con. Sure she's a cute girl, but—"

"I'm not suggesting that it would be all for Erin's benefit," Connor snarled. "It's to Novak's benefit to have another identity."

Davy looked away. "It's like Nick said, Con. Novak's run home to hide under Daddy's wing. It's the smart thing to do."

"But he's insane." Connor looked from Davy to Sean. Both his brothers avoided his gaze. "He doesn't reason like a normal human."

"You have to face reality, Con." Sean's mouth was tight.

Connor clenched his jaw. "And what is your version of reality?"

Sean looked like he was bracing himself. "That you hate the idea of this girl you've always wanted going to meet a filthy rich guy who goes nuts for Celtic art. Nobody could blame you for hating it."

The food in Connor's belly congealed to a cold lump.

"Let her go, Con." Davy's voice was heavy. "Move on."

Connor rose to his feet and snatched the sheaf of paper from the table. "Thanks for your help. If you'll excuse me, I've got stuff to do."

"Yo, Con," Sean said, as Connor shoved open the door.

Connor jerked around with a this-had-better-be-good expression.

"The guy may have more money than God, but hey… he urps blood," Sean pointed out. "Bleeding ulcers are not sexy. Take what comfort you can from that."

Connor slammed the porch door so violently that it rattled in its frame. They braced themselves. Slam went the front door, too.

Sean dropped his head down and bonked his forehead against the table. "Shit, shit, shit. Just shoot me now. Put me out of my misery."

"Yeah, that was brilliant." Davy's voice was dour. "You always hit a nerve. Straight on, bull's eye."

"It's a family trait." Sean raised resentful, narrowed eyes.

"You were the one begging to be put out of his misery," Davy observed. "Not me."

Sean slumped down into his chair. "I didn't think things could suck any worse for him than they already did. I was wrong."

"Things can always get worse," Davy pointed out. "Always."

"Aw, shut up," Sean muttered. "Goddamn pessimist."



* * *





Chapter Five





I't was sunset in the woods. She was naked beneath her gauzy dress. Her hair was loose, her breasts swayed beneath the fabric. Currents of warm air caressed her skin. Golden light slanted through the trees. They swayed and shivered in the soft, perfumed breeze.

Connor was following her, with a patient, measured gait through eons of dream time. His eyes were full of longing, and the realization grew so gradually inside her, when she finally understood, it was as if she had always known. He would never close the distance between them as long as her back was turned to him.

She stopped in a circle of trees, fragrant grass below and open sky above, hesitated for one last, trembling moment… and turned around.

His face lit up with triumphant joy. The wind rose as he approached her, whipping her hair around her face. She had solved the riddle, and finally they could claim what had always been theirs.

The air hummed like honeybees. Sweet, shimmering overtones filled the air. He placed his hands on her shoulders, pushed the dress off. It slid over her body to the fragrant grass below. There were no words. It was a ceremonial dance, a magical binding.

Incoherent yearning fountained up inside her, and she reached for him. She offered him all her need, all her secret heat and softness. He kissed her with a rough urgency that mirrored her own, and bore her to the ground. He gave her his heat and his hunger, the sinuous power of his body, the blazing energy that illuminated the dark places inside her, burning away fear and shame as the sun burned away fog. Power rose through her like sap, and thousand-petaled flowers of every hue burst into bloom in her sex, her heart, her head. The grass was their soft, fragrant bed as he surged into ber, deep and desperate—

The alarm shrilled. Erin jolted upright in bed. She slapped the alarm into submission and covered her face with shaking hands. The alarm had cut her off at the good part, and left her high and dry. What rotten, cruel timing. She could hardly breathe, she was so turned on.

She'd been having that dream for years. Connor's garb varied according to what she was researching at the time; sometimes he wore jeans and a T-shirt, sometimes he was a Celtic warrior, sometimes a Roman soldier. The details didn't matter. The dream always left her writhing in bed, quivering thighs clenched tight around a pool of liquid heat. Distracted by lust. The last thing she needed to cope with today.