Give Him the Slip (34 page)

"Send a substitute."

"I don't have any more substitutes," she pointed out.
"Every employee I have is already working maximum hours."

Kathy piped up. "Hire more help."

"I've tried. Please, Kathy, you're a business owner. You know
how difficult it is to find good help, and you have a large pool of teenagers
to choose from. My choices are much more limited, and I refuse to send anyone
but the best to my clients' homes. Right now, the only 'best' on my
availability board is me.

"I've thought about this long and hard, and I've decided that
I can't keep running. I've been running, hiding, and making the wrong decisions
most of my life. For once, I'm standing my ground. If Liam does show up with
extortion in his eyes, I'm turning him down. I'm standing my ground. If he
wants to sell me out and call in the vultures, then there isn't much I can do
about it, is there? I am who I am. I'm Baby Dagger. But I'm also Maddie Kincaid
and I'm proud of that. I'm not backing down. I'm not quitting. Some of my
clients will do without help if they can't have me, and while Branch Callahan's
daily letters aren't a matter of life and death, Sue Ellen Parker's physical
therapy is."

"What letters?" Luke demanded. "You've mentioned
them before."

Maddie hesitated, wishing she hadn't revealed that particular
detail. Yet, maybe it was time. Maybe knowing about the letters would spark
Luke's curiosity and finally bring about some communication between father and
son.

From what Maddie could tell, Luke hadn't spoken to Branch since
picking up Oscar and Knucklehead from Callahan House a week ago. Branch's hopes
that the closer proximity might lead to a reconciliation were fading fast. In
fact, his frequent calls demanding her help in the area were quickly becoming a
nuisance. So far this morning, he'd called every hour on the hour.

Luke pretended he didn't hear the conversations.

Maybe his question about the letters showed a crack of curiosity
in his wall of resistance.

"The letters are the reason your father hired me in the first
place. Up until this mushroom mess interrupted us, every weekday he would
dictate three letters—one to Matt, one to Mark, and one to you. I filed them by
date with the others. He's written to you all daily since you left Brazos Bend.
You'll find boxes with your name on them in that wall of built-in cabinets in
his study."

It took him a good ten seconds to respond. "You're
lying."

"He still writes a letter to John on holidays and your brother's
birthday. I think it's cathartic for him. You should read your letters, Luke. I
think you'd be more forgiving toward your father if you did."

His eyes flashed. "I don't give a damn about forgiveness and
you're changing the subject. If Liam Murphy has followed you to Brazos Bend, I
need to know why."

"I won't argue with that."

"But you won't leave town."

"No, I won't." She turned to her friend. "Kathy,
you know I love you dearly and I appreciate your concern, I truly do. I'm not
dismissing your advice out of hand. I've weighed the pros and cons of any
decision I might make. If I believed Liam was a danger to my person, I'd leave
in a heartbeat. I do believe he's a danger to my happiness, and while I'm
hoping Luke can help me avoid the paparazzi pitfall, if I end up on the cover
of the
Globe
or
National Enquirer,
I've decided it doesn't have
to be the end of my world here. Life might be uncomfortable for a bit, but
except for recently, I lead a pretty boring existence. After the initial
brouhaha, the excitement will die down. The photographers will eventually go
away. I've decided that if I have to, I can wait them out."

"People here won't like the notoriety," Luke cautioned.

"A few of them will," Kathy replied.

"Nevertheless, I've decided to have some faith in the people
of Brazos Bend. Even if the worst happens, I'm going to trust that they accept
me for who I am now, not who I was in the past."

Kathy stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. "I'm not
going to be able to change your mind, am I?"

"No."

Kathy pushed wearily to her feet, for once looking every day of
her fifty-nine years. "I feel in my bones that you're in danger, Maddie,
but at least you've been warned. I want you safe. Luke Callahan, you'd better
stick to her like syrup to a countertop. I think she's filled her quota of
stubborn with this decision to stay, so if she tries to give you any grief, well,
I'm the closest thing she has to a mama, and you have my permission to deal
with her however you think best."

Maddie glanced at Luke, expecting to see amusement gleaming in his
eyes. Instead, she spied a slow-burning anger, not just in his gaze, but in the
set of his jaw, the line of his mouth, and the clutch of his fist against his
thigh.

Luke used Maddie's house key to unlock the door at Callahan House,
then stepped aside for her and Knucklehead to enter first. He slammed the door
behind him. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to come within a half mile
of the man, but Maddie had surrendered to Branch's repeated requests and
promised to give him two hours this evening to supervise his exercises and work
on his damned letters.

Letters. As if anyone wanted to read anything the old bastard had
to say. Trying to lessen your guilt, dear old Dad? Won't work. Not with him.
Not with his brothers, either. They knew exactly what went down, and they
didn't need anything in writing to make it any clearer.

"What a freakin' waste of time," Luke muttered as Knucklehead
made a beeline for the kitchen. "You know, Maddie, we could be home making
love right now."

Her eyes twinkled devilishly. "You know what they say about
anticipation, don't you?"

"No."

"It makes the... heart... grow longer." She waggled her
brows. "Works for me."

"Very funny. My heart is plenty long enough, as you well
know."

"Braggart." She rose on her tiptoes and bussed his
cheek. "Behave, Luke. You don't have to stay, you know. This is the safest
house in town."

Since they'd already fought this fight, he didn't waste his breath
replying to that. The latest news he'd uncovered about Murphy had him worried.
According to a report out of Langley, Kathy might not be as far off the mark as
Maddie liked to think. In the past two years, Liam had been spotted in his
brother's company on four different occasions.

"All right, then," Maddie continued. "Why don't you
see if your dog has left you anything to snack on. I checked the schedule and
saw that the Rangers are playing the Yankees tonight. You can watch it in
Branch's study. We'll be working in his exercise room tonight."

He waited for her to go upstairs before taking her suggestion. He
was pleased to find a note from Maria Garza and a snack tray in the fridge.
Knucklehead lay stretched out on the cool tile floor feasting on his own
snack—a ham bone the cook had left lying in his favorite spot just inside the
back door at perfect tripping distance. Luke snagged the tray and a beer and
headed for the plasma TV in the study.

He sprawled in the leather recliner, commandeered the remote, and
settled in to watch baseball. But his gaze kept drifting toward the cabinets
lining the far wall.

So the old bastard still wrote letters, did he? Luke had to admit,
that one caught him by surprise. That first year after Branch sent him away
from Brazos Bend, Luke would have given his left nut to get a letter from his
father. He'd tried to act tough, to tell himself he was doing just fine working
the offshore rigs in the gulf, but underneath he'd been scared yellow. He'd
been kept in the dark about his brothers' locations. Had never felt so utterly
and completely alone. It'd been hell.

But not hell enough to keep him from continuing his destructive
ways. It'd been toward the end of that year when hungover and at risk of the
clap, he'd entered the knife fight that changed his life. Terry Winston had
decided to return the favor after Luke had saved his life, and before Luke
quite knew what had happened, Terry got him off the rig and in college.

His father's first letter arrived the same day as his first
history exam. Luke marked it
Return to Sender
and dropped it in a
mailbox. Once a week for the next four years, he repeated the procedure. When
Luke graduated and began his training with the DEA, the letters stopped.

Or so he'd thought.

His gaze drifted once again to the cabinets. Lots of years worth
of letters. If he actually did write to all of them... No, Luke didn't believe
it. "Probably came up with the idea to keep Maddie hanging around. Dirty
old man."

Luke turned his attention to the Rangers, and his attention didn't
drift until the perennially poor Ranger pitching gave up five runs in the
third. At that point, while reaching for another nacho, his gaze skidded across
the cabinets once again.

Well. Hmm. He guessed he could check it out. Just so he could
prove to Maddie that Branch was blowing smoke. The cabinet hinges squeaked as
he opened the door. He spied row after row of cardboard file boxes with white
labels written in his father's handwriting.
Matthew, 1990 & 91. Luke,
1996 & 97.
Boxes for Mark and for John, too, just like Maddie had said.

He touched his younger brother's box and a memory of the last time
he saw John flashed through his mind. They'd had a celebration dinner at a
steak house in D.C. right after John received his latest promotion at the State
Department.

Luke's eyes momentarily closed. Better he'd grown up to be a
dogcatcher than a diplomat.

Luke located a box marked with his own name and the year 2002. He
pulled it from the shelf, lifted the lid to reveal the stack of neat white
envelopes, and chose one at random.

Dear Son,

I hope this letter finds you well. I was proud to learn
of
your success in Target Bravo. The agency earns high marks for shutting down
such a vicious ring of criminals. I'm sure the commendation you earned as an
undercover operative was much deserved.

"I'll be damned," Luke murmured. How had Branch wrangled
the details of that one? Target Bravo was still a classified operation.

Branch had kept track of his sons. Luke had figured that out the
day Maddie arrived on his boat deck, but he hadn't realized the extent of his
father's snooping. It surprised him, intrigued him—how
had
he learned
about Luke's undercover work?— and stirred a deep sense of satisfaction within
him.

All of Branch Callahan's sons grew up and showed him. They all
turned out to be fine men. And they did it on their own, without Branch
Callahan's help.

Luke returned the letter to its envelope and the envelope back to
the box. As he returned the box to the stack, his gaze fell upon a file labeled
John, 2006.

Slowly, curiosity getting the better of him, Luke reached for the
box. For some strange reason, his heart began to pound as he lifted the lid.
Inside, he found four letters. Dates were penned in Maddie's hand across the front
of the envelopes.
January 1, New Year's Day; March 2, Texas Independence
Day; March 17, St. Patrick's Day; April 16, Easter.

Luke chose the March 2 letter. Luke's mother had brought the
McBride family tradition of celebrating Texas Independence Day to the Callahan
family. The day had been second only to Christmas on the enjoyment scale for
Luke and his brothers because Mom had made a party of it. Every year, rain or
shine, their family would load up and travel to the old dogtrot cabin on ranch
land that had come to Mary Margaret Callahan through her grandfather Billy
McBride. They'd spend the night playing pioneers, and their mom would tell
stories of old-time Texas, including family tales that had been passed down
through the generations. Luke would never forget the time she'd brought an
heirloom wedding gown with her and worn it while she and his father danced
beneath a silvered moon across a field awash in bluebonnets to music only they
heard. That night had been the first time he and his elementary school-aged
brothers heard their parents having sex in the room across the dogtrot. They'd
been horrified, scandalized, and though none of them would admit it, just a
little bit titillated.

Luke grinned at the memory as he unfolded his father's letter and
read:

Dear John,

It's Texas Independence Day, and I'm recalling one of my most
favorites. You'd have been in first or second grade. We arrived at the cabin
early in the day and you and I and your brothers propped fishing poles on our
shoulders, grabbed a pound of bacon, and walked down to the creek to catch
crawdads. Halfway through the morning, your brother Mark got distracted by some
tadpoles and he lay on his belly over the creek bank, his head getting closer
and closer to the water until a big old granddaddy crawfish reached up and
pinched his nose.