Chapter 3
Three
“I’M GOING TO SEE our visitor out. I’ll be right back.” Deck gave Harper a comforting I’ve got this wink before he maneuvered the man outside, firmly shutting the door behind them.
Despite the unwanted visitor, an ounce of relief from being surrounded by the family she loved filled her.
The man she loved. When death had stared her in the eye, it had all become so clear.
She loved Deckard. Too bad she was a shell of herself, and that he’d never release his self-imposed control long enough to act on his feelings.
If she was even right about his feelings.
She followed Riley and Greyson into the living room, not wanting to wait in the hall alone—never wanting to be alone since she’d been back. She stepped in mid-conversation.
“He died in a car explosion,” Grey said. “I mean, there was an explosion.”
“Yeah, but apparently it was just another con.” She shrugged a shoulder. “He excels at those.”
Harper reached for the strand of hair that always managed to slip across her forehead, but it was gone, left on the tangled vine in the harsh Syrian landscape.
“It’ll be okay, luv,” Grey said, rubbing Riley’s arms.
Harper watched the pair, feeling so out of touch. When had the two become a couple?
Then again, she always felt out of touch.
As if she were floating in and out of reality—her feet light and airy.
The sensation was disconcerting, but the agency psych assured her that was normal.
Yeah. Normal for a hot mess. She wished she had someone to comfort her like Grey did for Riley, but even if she had someone, her skin crawled the moment anyone got within a foot of her.
She had a mental boundary that, when crossed, suffocated her.
Would that end? Heal “in time” like her therapist said? Or would she be broken forever? The icy fingers of the swift Yarmouk River continued to yank her under, stealing the breath from her lungs—only nobody else could see it.
“Look . . .” their dad, Art, jangled the coins in his pants pocket.
Some things never changed. It’s how Deck would hear him coming as a kid.
Gave him enough notice to get Riley tucked away before his parents entered—always striving to protect Cool Whip the best he could, but he hadn’t done nearly enough.
What she’d been through, what they’d all been through at his parents’ hands . . . Anger roiled inside.
“It’s past time for you to go,” Deck said, cutting off his dad’s thought.
“Agreed. I should go before Max’s men catch back up with my trail.”
Deck ground his teeth, the small muscle in his jaw pulsing. “Back up? Big Max knows you’re alive?”
“How?” Christian grunted out.
“I went to see your mother. I used an assumed name, but he must have had someone watching who recognized me.”
Deck scowled. A watcher had been there the few times he’d visited his mother too.
A solitary man there under the pretense of speaking with another inmate, but his gaze never left them.
He was one of Max’s. Had to be. Waiting to see if their father’s death was a con, and apparently Max had called it right.
Now what? Would he show up on their land? Had their dad led him here?
“You knew he was after you, and you still came?” Deck shook his head, disgust for the man standing ten feet away from him. “Could you be any more selfish? Same old Dad.” He rolled his hands into fists in his pockets, stretching the denim.
“I was careful.” Their father slipped his gloved hands into his camel overcoat.
“You shouldn’t have taken the risk,” Christian said. “Not with our lives. But it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
“I told you,” he bit out. “I lost them.”
Deck stiffened. They’d built their business and lives under a new, albeit legal name, and lived in the boonies, but he wasn’t na?ve enough to believe if Big Max wanted to find them, he wouldn’t.
With Max and his arsenal of thugs, there was no place safe enough to hide.
None. They’d have to face him at some point.
It was just a question of when. Between Riley’s last case indicating he already had a bead on them and their dad’s resurrection, their meet-up wouldn’t be far off.
“Get off our land,” Christian said, his already broad shoulders broadening.
“Land?” Their dad chuckled. “You own a pile of dirt.”
“We own homes, and we bought this”—Deck gestured across the landscape—“honestly. With hard-earned money. Something you know nothing about. Now leave. I won’t say it again.”
“I’ll go, but you’re making a big mistake.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because Max will try to get answers out of you if he can’t catch me. Which he can’t. I know how to disappear.”
Probably where Riley got her skills of hiding battered women from their abusive husbands—getting them out of harm’s way and making them disappear.
Christian shifted his stance. “Answers about what?”
“I’ve made Max’s money last well. He’s going to want to confirm that and discover where the remaining money is hidden, not to mention other items of invaluable worth.”
Deck rested his hand on his waist, crooking his finger through his belt loop. “Other items?” What else had he stolen from Max? This was getting worse by the second.
“That’s a story for another day, but the money—”
“We have no idea where you hid it,” Christian said. “So why would Max bother to question us?”
“I’ll have to explain that later. Right now, I need you to listen to me. It’s vital you find your sister.”
“Bristol walked out of our lives years ago,” Christian said. “Besides, she’s always been able to hold her own.”
“She likes it that way,” Deck added.
Art shook his head. “She’s in too deep.”
Was that true or just another lie? Knowing their father, it was a lie to drag them into another of his schemes. Deck wasn’t biting. “She chose her path.”
“She’s your sister,” he hissed, a white cloud puffing out with the stressed release of air.
“As Christian said, she walked out of our lives years ago.” Walked out on a crying and distraught Riley without a second thought.
“You don’t understand,” their dad protested.
“Clearly, neither do you.” He glanced at Christian, who nodded, and each taking one of their father’s arms, they lifted him from his feet and strode for his vehicle.
“You’re going to regret this.” He squirmed in their grasp, but they held firm.
“We already do.” For giving him time to spout his lies.
Moments later, their father’s taillights disappeared into the white snowy blur of night.
“You think he was telling the truth about Big Max questioning us?” Christian asked as they turned and headed for the house.
Deck brushed the flakes off his shoulders and weighed the likelihood of his dad telling the full truth about something. “Given everything the man says is usually a lie . . .” He shook his head. “It’s probably just a scare tactic to get us to work with him . . .”
“But?”
Deck hitched. “My gut says for once he wasn’t lying.”
Christian stalled beside him. “That’s what I was afraid of.”