Atonement (15 page)

“What did you do to provoke that deputy?” Hunt asked as he drove out of the parking lot.

“I pissed in his beer.”

The agent chuckled. “You're just a bright ray of sunshine, aren't you, Detective?”

“Every damn day of my life.”

Con's phone cut in, saving him from more awkward talk with Agent Hunt. Frowning at the number, he answered.

“Con, I need you to haul ass over to Nic's.”

“Why's that, Cassy? Did you lock yourself out of the house?”

“No. It's Nic. She's barricaded herself in her room, and she's losing it. I'm afraid she might do something terrible.”

Con bit back a curse. “Is she armed?”

His question made Hunt look at him.

“I think so. She never took off her duty belt when she came home.”

This time, he let the colorful words fly. “On my way. Try to get her to talk to you.”

“I'll do my best. Hurry.” He could hear the panic in Cassy's voice.

Con pointed at the turn-off that led to Nic's home. “Agent Hunt, take that left and floor it.”

• • •

For the second time in less than a week, Con rushed to Nic's home, praying that she hadn't succumbed to her demons. The instant Hunt's car came to a dead stop, Con was out of the vehicle and running inside the house. He found Cassy slapping her hand against the bedroom door, begging her sister to come out.

Nic screeched, “Leave me alone,” and something crashed into the wood.

“Has she been doing that the whole time?” he asked.

“Only in the last few minutes. At least she stopped crying.”

“Is this a common occurrence with Deputy Rivers?”

An ugly scowl covered Cassy's face as she peered over her shoulder at Hunt. “What is he doing here?” she muttered.

“Had a problem with my tires; he was my ride.” Con indicated for her to leave. “Get him out of my hair.”

She transferred her hatred for the FBI agent to Con in an evil glare. He shivered at the sight. The Rivers sisters had mastered the art of stripping the skin from a man's hide with just a look.

Once she steered Hunt away from the bedroom, Con leaned against the door frame and let his head rest near the juncture.

“Nic, it's Con.”

Silence was the reply.

“Nic, could you open the door?”

“Go to hell!”

Well, she was still alive. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. There was the delicate approach, and then there was the O'Hanlon way. He wanted to side with his O'Hanlon roots. But for the moment, he'd try the delicate approach.

He crooked a finger at Cassy and beckoned her closer. “What set her off?” he whispered.

“She told me what happened to a guy who'd been her spotter and … for a lack of a better word, lover.”

“That was?”

Cassy bit her lips, glanced back at Agent Hunt, then bent closer to whisper, “He committed suicide, and she found him.”

Oh, flaming balls of shite. He'd allowed Nic to argue her way right into a heaping mess of suicide cases with this ugly piece of information in her background. He was one piss-poor investigator.

He had to set this right. Aye, for him and the whole of McIntire County. Nic's situation was unique, but he couldn't allow her to go any further. Bugger, how was he going to retract his deal without creating more of a firestorm with her?

Shooing Cassy away from him, Con decided to try another tactic.

“Nic, I want you to listen to me closely. I'm going to tell you something no one in this town knows about my family.”

“Don't try to sympathize with me. I know Cassy told you what I said. And your BS won't work.”

“I'm not sympathizing. I just want you to listen.”

When she didn't answer, he pressed forward.

“Right before my mam moved us to Eider we were living in Boston. The three of us had to leave because my da' had come over from Ireland and stirred up bad trouble for us. I'm talking the kind that's criminal. My mam had been trying to get us away from that when she left Ireland, but he followed and brought more of the same. This time, he got my older brother, Seamus, caught up in it. Almost had me, too.”

The faint sound of shuffling reached him, and he held his breath, waiting. He placed his hand on the doorknob to catch the vibrations if she touched it.

“One night, I watched my da' and brother kill a man for refusing to cough up an obscene amount of money. My mam learned about it and threatened to kill my da' if he followed us again. Da' went back to Ireland with my brother, and a few months later we heard that they'd been killed in a bombing.”

The knob shuddered lightly under his hand, giving him hope.

“I know you're probably thinking what the hell does this have to do with what happened to you. Well, Nic, you know what my greatest guilt is? What drove me to being a cop? That man who died. I could have stopped my da' from killing him, but like a fool I just stood by, believing that he wasn't capable of murder. That he wouldn't do it in front of his sons.”

The lock clicked and the knob turned. Con dropped his hand and stepped back as the door cracked open.

“It's not the same,” Nic said hoarsely.

“Did you ever think that if you'd paid better attention to the signs, you could have prevented it before it happened?”

Her features wrinkled in confusion. He ached at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. How she must have grieved for what she'd kept buried. Hiding her PTSD must have taken a huge toll on her for her to have flashed back like she did yesterday. She needed to rest, take a break from this madness, and get the help everyone in her position needed to function.

But if she hadn't done it before, would she do it on his suggestion?

“What are you doing, Con?”

“I'm trying to be someone better than I was, Nic. I want to help you find a way out of that dark hole before it swallows you forever.”

The door swung open wider, and she inched forward. “How do you propose to do that?”

He held out his hand. “Trust me.”

She stared at his offered hand. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Slowly, she lifted her hand and then gradually placed it in his.

Con lightly grasped it and tugged her toward him. She tripped into his arms and sagged into his embrace. He felt her take a shuddering breath before she leaned into him more. Behind him, he heard Cassy sigh in unison with his internal one.

Nic had taken the first step.

From here on out, Con had to keep a supportive hold on her. Or he'd lose her forever.

The Priest lingered in his hidden position until the way was clear. He was astounded at how quickly the next sinner had presented himself. Yet, when he considered who it was, it shouldn't have come as a shock. He had been the town gossip for years, stirring up trouble wherever he went. Worse than a woman, some of the old-timers were fond of saying. In fact, the gossip legacy was long, as the whole family had carried the same badge. The whole family was disliked by all, and yet the weak still turned a listening ear to their venom.

What drew The Priest to him was his vicious lashing of Deputy Nicolette Rivers. Out of all the people calling for penalty on the female cop, his was the voice calling for blood.

It was time to end it.

This sinner would prove more difficult in confessing atonement. The Priest would need more contact and access to him. He had a few ploys in his arsenal that he'd yet to use.

He meandered along the sidewalk, window-shopping at the quaint businesses that lined Eider's town square. There was a strong sense of conservatism and piety in this town, on the outside. But the longer he lived here, the more he saw below the surface. He paused at the corner and watched the decorating committee hang the brightly colored autumn decorations for the Fall Festival.

Tomorrow was the first day of the festival. Saturday, the festivities would kick off with a parade. Even with the rash of suicides, Eider would rally on with their plans. This was a time of economic surplus for the town; the mayor couldn't well afford to cancel it over a few insignificant people.

The Priest tilted his head as he observed a McIntire County Sheriff's Department car roll past. He contemplated the things he'd heard over the last few days since Deputy Rivers pulled the trigger and ended Dusty Walker's life. There was a story behind that woman, something that begged for his attention. In his experience, no woman was capable of being a lethal sniper without some emotional damage in her background.

She had a sin she was covering up.

He turned to observe the car parking in a spot next to the square. When the occupant exited, the Priest smiled. What better way to learn more about a potential target than to ply his trade on a willing participant.

Against her better judgment—who the hell was she kidding, she was too emotionally wrung out to fight it—Nic allowed Con to convince her to leave the house and join him at his mother's pub. She tried to tell him it was a horrible idea, but he assured her with Cassy along, Nic would be fine.

So far, he hadn't been wrong.

For some odd reason, Agent Hunt joined them, too. Despite Cassy's snarls. Boyce, as he insisted they call him when they weren't on duty, actually wasn't that bad of a guy. And for Nic to admit that was saying a lot for a federal agent. She could see why her sister had fallen for him; his charm knew no bounds. He kept Nic in a good mood regaling them with stories of stupid criminals while they sat in a corner booth enjoying a wide array of delectable desserts Maura was thinking of selling during the Fall Festival.

Con was in a strange mood—he'd fed the jukebox a continuous track of smooth jazz and easy-listening songs. In a town where country and pop was popular, it sounded weird, but Nic liked it. The music soothed her frazzled nerves and tense mind. She could forget she was surrounded by people she didn't trust or who didn't trust her in return.

Sucking the thick, rich, chocolate fudge frosting off her fork tines, she blocked out Boyce's voice and focused on Con moving behind the bar, filling drink orders. Like any good barkeep, he had a towel draped over his broad shoulder as he braced his hands on the counter and spoke with two of the Killdeer Pub's regulars.

That peek into his past had touched the vulnerable side of her that Nic had tried to keep on lockdown. Ugly, tempting thoughts of death and release were going through her head in those moments before Con arrived. She couldn't explain why or how his was the first voice of reason that managed to cut through the turmoil going on inside her head, but she was grateful.

Nic buried her fork in a two-inch-thick coconut cheesecake and pried off a bite. The moist, fudgy cake was great, but she was really loving this cheesecake Maura had perfected in the last week.

“Hey, Nic.” Their server, Patrick, grinned and placed a glass in front of her. “Mr. Barkeep says you favor this particular kids' drink.”

Nic tipped the darkened glass to see the chocolate milk. “That I do, but I don't recall telling him.” Her gaze slid to Cassy. “Ever.”

Cassy shrugged and shoveled in a mouthful of cake.

“Thanks, Patrick,” she said to him before he hurried off to one of his other tables. Nic lifted the glass and saluted Con waiting at the bar.

A sexy smile appeared, making her stomach twist.

She could still recall his scent and the feel of him wrapped around her. She craved the security he'd offered and wanted to be there in his arms again. Licking her lips, she lowered her gaze to the dessert spread before her.

What was she thinking? She was a ticking time bomb. Getting involved with another man was out of the question. Con didn't deserve to be saddled with a shattered woman on the edge of life. He'd offered assistance and trust to get her through the healing process and learning to handle her PTSD. That was as far as it would go.

The General and Aiden had taught her a valuable lesson: the moment things got difficult, you couldn't depend on men to support you.

A cell rang, dragging her from her thoughts. Boyce glanced at his phone and excused himself. Cassy curled an arm around Nic's shoulders and leaned closer.

“Are you okay?”

In an odd move on her part—it had been so long—Nic tipped her head until she touched Cassy's and looked her in the eye. “For now.”

“I meant what I said about Mom and me. We do love you. Don't forget it.”

Nic's throat tightened. She soaked in what her sister had said, not wanting to break the moment by uttering something that potentially could be misunderstood. It was safer this way.

Their sisterly moment was broken when Boyce returned. Cassy lifted her head from Nic's but kept her arm on her shoulders.

“Cassy, could I speak with you?” He nodded to the exit.

Her sister didn't question, merely frowned as she stood and followed Boyce out of the pub.

Nic took a few more bites of the coconut cheesecake before Con joined her.

“Where's Secret Agent Man going?”

“Outside to have a conversation with Cassy. He's probably going to attempt to seduce her, only to get punched in the groin.”

Con grimaced at her blunt statement. “Not something you just blurt out to a guy.”

Nic smiled around her cake-laden fork.

“So, they were a … you know?”

“I guess. Cassy was vague on the details, and I didn't care to hear more than that.”

The current song ended, and a brief bout of silence fell over the pub as the jukebox pulled up the next song in the queue. The first words and strains played, and Nic stiffened. Her hand with the fork fell to the table as the song picked up.

“Something wrong?” Con asked. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Nic rolled her eyes. “Could you be anymore cliché?”

“Not really. But, seriously, does this song bring back bad memories or something?”