Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls #3)(26)

“My last assignment went FUBAR.” He summed up the incident in Brazil. “I’m going to be home, lying low, for a while.”

“You’re not going back?” Grant’s tone was more statement than question.

Mac kept to his pledge to be honest. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do.”

His brother folded his arms over his chest, clearly unhappy with his answer.

Mac added, “Part of the reason I kept my job a secret was that I didn’t want you to try and talk me out of it. I screwed up my life. I screwed up everyone’s lives. I finally have a chance to make up for all my mistakes.”

“You don’t have to make up for anything,” Grant said.

But Mac felt like he did.

Hannah’s eyes went misty. “But you’re all right?”

“Yes. To be totally clichéd, it’s just a flesh wound,” Mac said.

“So what happened last night?” Hannah asked.

With a deep breath, Mac told them everything, from leaving the nursing home to his conversation with Stella.

“Strange . . .” Grant said. “And I’m not a big fan of weird events, not after everything that’s happened over the last year.”

“I’m going to find her.” Mac set down his empty cup. “I need to find her.”

He couldn’t have another woman he couldn’t save haunting his sleep.

“Does Brody know about this?” Hannah’s mouth pursed.

“I imagine Stella will tell him this morning.” Mac spun his empty coffee mug on the table.

“Is there anything we can do?” Grant asked.

Mac stretched. “Let me borrow your cell phone. I need to call the auto shop.”

“OK.” Grant held his phone toward him. “On one condition.”

Wary, Mac froze. “What?”

“You have dinner at my house tonight. We can talk about all of this. Plus, we have funeral and estate issues to discuss. Ellie has been worried sick, and the kids miss you.” Grant had proposed to Ellie on Christmas Day. They’d bought and renovated a home. They were raising Carson and Faith and building a family together. They were happy. Was that envy crawling around in Mac’s chest? Since when did hearth and home have any appeal to him?

“Deal.” For once in his life, Mac wanted to be part of his family. Now he had to figure out how to make that happen. He’d been alone so long, anything else took thought and effort.

Hannah reached across the table and opened her hand. Mac took it. Grant placed a hand on each of their shoulders. The three of them were connected now in a way they hadn’t been since they’d faced all those survival challenges their father had set up for them. They were bound by their shared experiences.

But once there had been four of them.

Grief welled in Mac’s chest. Raw and sharp, it nearly choked him. Grant’s hand squeezed his shoulder. Mac swallowed hard. Lee had been gone for fifteen months, but the wound his murder left was still wide open, and the Colonel’s death had been a handful of salt.

Mac needed to deal with his pain before the scar it left was permanent.





Chapter Thirteen


Stella jerked awake. Her heart hammered. Her breaths bellowed in and out of her lungs as if she’d just run the academy obstacle course.

Trembling, she pushed her sweaty hair off her forehead. The nightmare had been vivid enough she could smell gunpowder, feel the stock of her AR-15 against her shoulder, and hear Lance groaning as she fired at the armed and fleeing suspect. But winging him hadn’t been enough. He’d gotten away. He’d gone on to kill two cops. Hannah and Brody had nearly died.

Swallowing the sickness rising in her throat, she got out of bed and stumbled to the shower. Not even the scalding water could completely wash away the nightmare. Dawn had not made an appearance yet when Stella tiptoed into the dark kitchen. The remnants of her nightmare lingered. Gunshots, blood, the sharp scent of gunpowder. A quick burst of panic kicked her adrenals into overdrive. Breathing deeply, she leaned on the counter, her fingers gripping the edge until she got her pulse under control. She hadn’t had a flashback in a long time. She’d thought she was over them.

But would she ever truly get over what had happened? Failure was tough to accept.

She turned on the overhead light and lifted the coffeepot, grateful that it was already full. Pouring herself a mugful, she drank half its contents standing over the sink. The caffeine hit her system and eased her lack-of-sleep headache. Three restless nights were beginning to take their toll.

The front door opened and her grandfather entered, fully dressed and carrying a camera rigged with a telephoto lens.

“You were working so late, I didn’t expect you to be up this early.” He kissed her cheek. Worried eyes scanned her face. It was impossible to hide anything from the retired NYPD homicide detective.

“I need to get to the station.” Stella had reviewed her case notes until she’d fallen asleep over the files.

“If you’re not going to sleep, you need to eat. Let me make you some breakfast.” Setting down his camera, Grandpa ignited a burner and set a frying pan on the stove. On cue, nails pattered on the tile as her sister’s French bulldog trotted into the room and sat at Grandpa’s feet, his oversize head cocked in expectation.