Chapter 1 Sunshine #2
A short time later, I met Special Agent Waverly Mitchell.
Our connection was instantaneous, though not in a romantic way.
There would never be another woman for me, not when I’d already had perfection.
Waverly became my best friend, the sister I never had.
We understood each other on a whole different level.
So when she was promoted to resident agent in charge of an office in Bumfuck, West Virginia and asked me to join her as her second-in-command, I jumped at the opportunity.
After seven years, we’d built a phenomenal team.
Keaton Mitchell was the first to join us, followed by Noah Anderson, Lanie Biggs, then Koen Banks.
They weren’t just top-notch agents, they’d become family.
Every one of us had a story, some harsher than others.
I knew them all, but not one of them knew mine.
Not even Waverly, though not for lack of trying.
The most she’d gotten out of me was I’d lost someone close.
My loose tongue could be blamed on the bottle of Jameson I’d downed on the five-year anniversary of the accident.
Rubbing my eyes, I returned the bottle to the cabinet and set the glass in the sink. Two drinks was my limit nowadays, even when the demons rode me hard. A good old-fashioned workout in my home gym was what I really needed. Sometimes you had to feel the ache in order to heal the hurt.
Striding down the hall, I bypassed the ornate staircase which led up to my second floor master, continued beyond the half bath, and opened the last door on the right.
Hitting the switch on the wall, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating the path.
I jogged down the steps, slid on the pair of tennis shoes I kept there as backup, then climbed on the treadmill.
Pushing play on the remote control, the steely sounds of “Enter Sandman” by Metallica reverberated off the soundproof walls.
By the time the vocals cut in, I was in the zone. Completely focused.
Seven miles wasn’t enough, so I pushed it to ten.
When all else failed, I moved over to the heavy bag.
Jab-cross-hook. Cross-hook-uppercut. I focused on technique, using my legs and hips to generate the power behind my punches.
Boxing was more than brute strength, there was strategy involved.
If you used up all your reserves in the beginning, it didn’t matter how big you were, you’d never make it past round one.
Timing, footwork, and stamina were key, which was why I ran through combination drills as often as possible.
Plus, there was an added benefit. They never failed to exhaust me.
Hours later, I found myself sitting behind my desk in my office downtown. It was Saturday, technically my day off, though as a supervising agent I was pretty much on the clock twenty-four seven. The mounds of unfinished paperwork piled on my desk spoke volumes.
For the past few weeks, we’d been investigating a case involving Waverly’s man, Finnian O’ Lachlan, a billionaire CEO with a stalker issue.
The guy rubbed me the wrong way the first couple times we met, until I realized precisely what was bothering me.
The answer––when I finally admitted it to myself––was staggering.
There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Finn.
He was the perfect fit for my gun-shy best friend.
Turned out I was the issue. The green-eyed jealousy monster had reared his ugly head.
It had nothing to do with me wanting Waverly and everything to do with missing Sloane.
I was spiraling and it damn near cost Waverly her happiness.
Of course, she wouldn’t see it that way.
She’d say we all missed the signs. No one could’ve foreseen the disastrous ending to the operation I planned and executed in order to draw the stalker out.
It didn’t matter, I blamed myself enough for the both of us.
Guilt was part of the reason I was working instead of celebrating with everyone else at Waverly and Finn’s house.
The last thing I wanted was to cast my shadow of gloom over their special night.
Finn was proposing. They deserved all the happiness in the world.
I’d get there at some point, otherwise Shayne, a detective with the Huntington PD and another close friend, might kick my ass.
Glancing at the clock on my laptop, I groaned at the time.
Fashionably late was edging on late-late.
I stood, putting my hands to the small of my back, then twisted from one side to the other.
The cacophony of cracks as the pressure released from my spine was music to my ears.
Sitting in one place too long left me stiff as a board and I hadn’t moved since lunchtime.
Making my way to the main part of the office, I was surprised to see another light on.
The door to Nelson’s makeshift computer lab was cracked.
He was our resident hacker, while his wife, Sammy, was the office assistant.
Waverly and I hired them as a couple about a year and a half after we arrived in Huntington.
They were as much a part of the team as any one of the agents.
“What are you doing here, Nelson?” I pushed his door open farther.
He jumped, dropping the screwdriver he held in his hand to the floor. “Jesus, you scared me, Agent Palmer.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Duncan?”
“Outside of work, sure. In here?” He twirled his finger through the air. “No way. I’ve got too much respect for you.”
“Appreciated, but not necessary.” Noticing a table with three different stacks of items in front of him, I walked over, picking up a few to look them over. “Whatcha working on?”
He blushed, piquing my interest.
“Nothing important, really. I was just thinking about those tracking things Jett likes.”
Jett was Koen’s teenage brother-in-law. The kid was a damn genius and had gotten into a bit of trouble a while back. Rather than punishment, we took him under our wing, so to say. He spent most afternoons learning the tools of the trade in the computer lab with Nelson.
“The tags? Like for luggage?”
“Yes, well, sort of.” He handed me what looked like a patch used to deliver medication through the skin. “I was wondering if I’d be able to combine the tracking system from the tag into one of these epidermal patches.”
“What would be the purpose?”
“I have no idea. I really just wanted to see if I could.”
Giving him the patch back, I turned to leave. “See you at the party?”
“Shoot. That was today? Sammy’s gonna kill me.”
“At least I’m not the only one who'll be rolling up late,” I mumbled under my breath, then called out, “Lock up when you’re done.”
Not waiting for a response, I walked out the entrance to the building, pausing briefly to breathe in the cool night air.
The city of Huntington was lit up and buzzing with activity.
It was a college town after all, which meant the bars and restaurants would be filled to the point of bursting for much of the weekend.
While it was great for the local economy, it plucked my last nerve.
I craved the quiet, which was why my house was located clear on the other side of town.
Out there, I didn’t have to deal with things like “light pollution.” If I wanted to gaze at the stars, I just had to look at the sky. Simple as breathing.
I shook my head, grumbling to myself as I started down the steps. “Jesus, Duncan. You’re turning into a thirty-six-year-old curmudgeon.”
Halfway to the bottom, my phone rang. Expecting it to be Shayne or Waverly, I was surprised when “unknown number” scrolled across the top of the screen. My finger hovered over the green answer button for so long, the ringing stopped. When it immediately started again, I took a chance.
It was the wrong move.
I had no business showing up at Way and Finn’s party, not with how my day had turned to complete shit.
Normally, I’d let unknown calls go to voicemail, but for some reason, I answered.
Big mistake. It was Niall, my former handler.
He was the one I got my orders from when I was undercover.
He was also the one who ripped my world apart all those years ago.
When my cover was blown, I never expected to hear from him again, but apparently, I wasn’t very lucky.
He called to warn me the group I’d been investigating eight years ago was ramping up for something big.
I’m not sure why he thought I’d give a fuck.
Those days were solidly in my rearview mirror.
Whatever his reasons, all it did was bring up old ghosts I thought I’d laid to rest.
So when I pulled into Finn’s house, I wasn’t in the best mood. But I promised I'd show up, and I’ve only ever broken one promise.
Trudging up the stairs, a million excuses were already running through my head as to why I needed to leave early. I rang the doorbell and waited. A few minutes later, the door opened, but no one was there.
“You’re big.”
I looked down…way down. She was cute for a kid. Her dark hair was pulled back into two ponytails on either side of her head. She was hiding mostly behind the door, but I could see she was wearing fuzzy pink bunny slippers on her feet.
“And you’re short.”
Her ice-blue eyes widened. Fuck. I was scaring her. This was why I should’ve gone home.
“Reagan!” someone else shouted. Then I heard the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps running across the floor. The door opened a little bit wider and then there were two of them.
“Whoa,” the little boy said. “Who are you?”
“Duncan. I work with Waverly. Should you be answering the door?”
Apparently not, because the next thing I knew, the door was slammed in my face. I rang the bell a second time, figuring I’d give it two minutes before I took off. Thirty seconds later, I heard muffled voices on the other side of the door and when it opened, it wasn’t the kids standing there.
“I’m so sorry. They––”
My knees buckled slightly at the sight of her, and I braced my hands against the doorframe to keep from falling.
“Sloane.” It was my ghost. “They told me you were dead.”
“R-Rogan?” I hated that name on her lips, but it was the only one she knew.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What the fuck?”
“Swear jar, Mom.” The same little boy from earlier came to her side.
“You’re a mom?”
She swallowed, looking between me and the kid next to her. “Rogan, go back to the living room with your sister.”
It was like a shot to the heart. I wonder how her husband felt about his name. Fuck. Did she have a husband?
“You named him after me?”
“I named him after his father.”
My heart threatened to beat out of my chest. It was impossible. There was no way…
“What are you saying, Sloane?”
“They're yours.”
Neither of us moved. No more words were exchanged. All I could do was stare at the woman I thought was dead for the last nine years and hope she wasn’t an elaborate hallucination my mind had conjured up to fuck with me.
“Duncan, you made it.” My head snapped up, breaking our connection.
Waverly and Finn were coming toward us, his arm thrown casually over her shoulder. Their smiles dipped, replaced by puzzled glances as they took in the scene before them.
“What the hell is going on here?” Finn barked.
Sloane paled and my protective instincts roared to the surface like no time had passed.
“Watch your tone,” I returned, inching forward.
“You told me your name was Rogan.” She backed away, shaking her head. Her words were barely a whisper, but I didn’t miss them. Neither did Finn.
“I’m gonna kick your feckin’ ass.”
Pain exploded in my jaw. I hadn’t expected the punch. It was the only excuse for how he got the jump on me. Finn had a hell of an uppercut for a suit, I’d give him credit.
“Finn!” Waverly and Sloane both yelled.
He swung again, only this time I was ready for him. I dodged the blow, using his momentum to spin him and pin him up against the front of the house, trapping his arm behind his back. It was a move I’d used countless times on perps. Never thought I’d have to use it on someone I considered a friend.
“Please let my brother go.”
“Brother?” I croaked, releasing my hold on Finn.
Even with tears streaming down her beautiful face, their resemblance was uncanny, right down to their brilliant blue eyes.
Another set of eyes flashed through my mind, two sets, actually.
And they were the exact same shade as mine.
All at once, Sloane’s words from earlier punched through my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs.
They’re yours.
Fuck. Me. I had kids. Twins.
They’re yours.
I was a father.
The black spots dotting my vision from lack of oxygen turned into a red haze as another thought crossed my mind.
I sucked in a ragged breath at the realization.
Someone purposefully kept me from Sloane…
from my family. The same someone who sat beside my hospital bed while I mourned her death and shouldered the blame.
The same slimy-ass motherfucker who called me out of the blue less than an hour ago from Quantico with a warning.
I was going to beat Niall black and blue, but first, he was going to tell me why.
I made it two steps before her timid voice cut through the blinding rage thrumming in my veins.
“Rogan?”
Stowing my anger, I turned and went to her, cupping her face between my palms.
“Sunshine.” She shivered at my use of her old nickname. “My real name is Duncan Palmer. I know everything is fucked up right now and I’ll explain it all to you when I get back, just know I was taking you to our spot that day to tell you everything.”
“Get back? Where are you going?”
“To get answers.” Leaning in, I pressed my lips to her forehead, then before anyone could stop me, I took off for my Jeep.