Wanted (FBI Heat Book 3) (19 page)

While Skye napped in her own crib, in her own home, late Friday afternoon, Kat taped another packed moving box. She was still exhausted from the unbelievable night, but some internal force told her that she had to get out of town as soon as possible. Only yesterday, she’d told her mother that she hoped to leave by Monday. But now she couldn’t wait that long. Tomorrow was her new goal.

Yes, the problems at Diablo Beach had been resolved. Yes, Charlie was dead and could no longer endanger anyone. And yes, the Chinese had slunk back into the dark hole where they were no doubt planning future attacks. But none of that mattered.

None of it mattered because she wasn’t escaping Diablo Beach or any of the related issues. She was running from Dillon O’Malley. Again.

She was still totally in love with him, and he with her. And that was a huge problem. Despite their love, they couldn’t be together.

She couldn’t live like that. Knowing Dillon was so close but out of reach would drive her crazy. So she had to move. For Skye’s sake. For her own sake.

Someday, somewhere, she would meet another man and fall in love again. She wanted a husband, and Skye deserved a daddy. A daddy, not a father. Skye had one of those, but he didn’t want her.

Kat recalled a poster with the message:
Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a daddy.
Yeah, that’s exactly what she wanted for her daughter: a special man to be her daddy.

She sighed and pressed her hand against the pain in her chest. Would it ever go away completely? She sincerely doubted it. But she’d survive, just as she had before.

The doorbell rang. Her mother and father had brought dinner as promised. Kat set the packed box aside and answered the door.

Dillon stared at the mother of his child. Holy shit, the idea still freaked him out.

“May I come in?” he asked when he wasn’t invited.

Kat squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You’ve said that to me before. On Tuesday, to be exact,” he joked but received no smile in response. “I’d really like to come in, Katriona. Actually, I need to.”

She stepped back and waved him inside. “Keep your voice down. Skye’s napping.”

The tightening in his chest surprised him. Would that always happen?

Kat closed the door, but instead of sitting down, she stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She reminded him of a mama bear guarding her cubs.

He immediately noticed the additional moving boxes, which hadn’t been there last night. She was packing, still leaving.
Well, hell.
He had to stop her. A seed of panic sprouted in his gut.

Still sore from last night’s explosion and nursing a badly sprained ankle, he limped across the living room and gingerly lowered himself onto the couch. He scrutinized Kat as she continued to stand by the front door.

Pale, tired, disheveled, and unbelievably beautiful. He’d never tire of looking at her. If Kat would let him.

She embodied incredible inner strength and determination. A strong Scottish lass, if ever there was one. Aileen and Craig deserved to be proud. No doubt, Skye would grow up to be like her mother. He wanted to make sure of it. If Kat would let him.

“Is the op over?” she asked to break the silence.

“Pretty much. I spent part of the morning being debriefed. Lots of uncomfortable questions.”

“Like…?”

“Like, well, what did I know about the virus that destroyed Charlie’s software changes and restored the older version of the operations program?” He shrugged. “I said I’d heard rumors of some awesome software called the Kraken, but I couldn’t verify that’s what saved Diablo Beach. They also grilled me about some anonymous hackers group called TSK, who’d sent all the information to the Feds supporting your suspicions and implicating the Chinese government in the attempted sabotage. The extent of the data dump suggested superior hacking skills. You know, stuff that’s way over my head.”

He grinned with satisfaction. His performance had convinced everyone except his boss. SSA Rex Kelley was nobody’s fool. Thankfully, the truth about Dillon’s involvement would be safe with him.

“I see. Well, congratulations on a successful op. What about Chaos? Is he in any trouble?”

“No, he’s not. Besides, they’d have a helluva time finding him. But I also told him to take down the TSK website and go dark until I contact him.”

“So the Shadow is going to continue…just later on?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Depends on…some other stuff. But it’s all good for now.”

“I’m glad. Sounds like you have nothing to worry about.”

“Wrong. I do have something to worry about, but it’s not the op or TSK.” He pointed to the growing pile of moving boxes. “Those worry me.”

“They’re not your problem.”

“Wrong again.” He looked down, sighed, and shoved his fingers through his hair. “Why are you running away from me again, Kat? Skye’s not a secret any longer.”

“I tried to explain this before.” Her eyes glistened. “I can’t live this close to you knowing we’ll never be together.”

“Hmmm. Don’t I get a say in whether I live near…my daughter?” He hated that he stumbled over the words.

She cocked her head. “Knowing your philosophy about having kids, I figured you’d just as soon she
not
be around as a constant reminder that we screwed up.”

“Wrong again. And this is what’s making me so angry and making me wonder if you really know me at all.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Sit,” he said, patting the cushion beside him. “You look tired.”

She hesitated before joining him on the couch but at the opposite end.

“I don’t want to be angry, Kat, but I can’t believe you’re about to make the same mistake by leaving for the second time based on an erroneous assumption.”

“It’s not much of an assumption, Dillon. You spelled out your position on children very clearly.”

He smiled. “Great. I’m really glad you remember it. What was the foundation of my position?”

“That there were too many unwanted kids in the world.”

“Right. Now we’re getting somewhere. If I turn my back on Skye, what does that make her?”

Her eyes widened. “Unwanted.”

He nodded. “So if I believe so strongly that there are already too many unwanted kids, why in the world would I want to add another one?”

“Y-you wouldn’t.”

“Right. Because that would make me a hypocrite.” He reached across the space between them and caressed her cheek. “I’d rather be a daddy than a hypocrite any day.”

A boulder lodged in her throat, and Kat had to swallow several times before she could speak. “What exactly are you saying, Dillon?”

“I want to be Skye’s daddy.”

“But…but I watched you last night at the hospital. You couldn’t even touch her.”

He sighed and looked away. “Nope, I couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I didn’t feel worthy. Actually, I felt guilty.”

“For what?” Despite her blinking fast and furious, tears leaked from both eyes. This couldn’t really be happening.

“For not having been there for her for the past sixteen months. For not having been there for her mother for the past two years.”

“That was my fault, not yours.”

“No, it was my fault that you believed I was such an ogre that I could turn my back on my own flesh and blood. Look, Kat, it’s true I didn’t plan to have kids. But my God, did you really think I wouldn’t want
our
child if it happened by accident?”

“Yes, I did. I’m sorry.”

He met her gaze, his eyes glistening. “Then see, it was my fault.”

“So you believe me that I ran away because I thought you’d be happier without Skye?”

“Sadly, yes.” He sighed. “I’m amazed and humbled that you loved me enough to give up everything for what you believed I wanted. I just wish you still did.”

“Oh, Dillon.” She threw herself into his arms. “I do still love you. I never stopped loving you.”

He brushed the hair from her face. “God, Kat, I love you too. I’ve been so lost without you. And I think I already love Skye…without even knowing her…just because she’s ours.”

He framed her face with his hands and kissed her thoroughly, like he never wanted to stop.

“Does this mean we can start over?” she asked when they came up for air.

A dejected look spread across his handsome-as-hell features. “Afraid not.”

Her breath caught. “Why…why not?”

He shook his head sadly. “Too much time has been lost.”

Her heart sank. “I see.”

“Good. I hoped you wouldn’t have a problem with continuing from where we left off—with a wedding—instead of starting over. In fact, I never could bring myself to part with this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out her engagement ring from two years ago. “Will you marry me, Katriona MacKenzie?”

Joy flooded in to fill the void left by two years without him.

“Yes, Dillon O’Malley, I will.” She grinned mischievously. “But maybe we should wait on the wedding until your eyebrows grow back.”

“No way. I don’t give a damn about my eyebrows. I want to be a family…now.”

As they kissed again, Skye’s cry reached them. Kat jumped up and grabbed his hand.

“C’mon, Dillon. It’s time for Skye to really meet her daddy.”

T
wo men trod carefully through the trees in search of their prey. Bluebells and wild garlic were underfoot, beech and Douglas firs on all sides, tendrils of early morning fog still clinging to the damp slopes. Somewhere in this wood was the quarry.

The man in front, feeling brave thanks to the morning sherry, his bolt-action Purdey, and the security man covering his back, was Lord Oakleigh. A Queen’s Counsel lawyer of impeccable education, he had an impressive listing in
Debrett’s
and his peer’s robes were tailored by Ede & Ravenscroft. Oakleigh had long ago decided that these accomplishments paled in comparison to the way he felt now—this particular mix of adrenaline and fear, this feeling of being so close to death.

This,
he had decided, was life. And he was going to live it.

The car had collected him at 4:00 a.m. He’d taken the eye mask he was given, relaxed in the back of the Bentley, and used the opportunity for sleep. In a couple of hours he arrived at the estate. He recognized some of his fellow hunters, but not all—there were a couple of Americans and a Japanese gentleman he’d never seen before. Nods were exchanged. Curtis and Boyd of The Quarry Co. made brief introductions. All weapons were checked to ensure they were smart-modified, then they were networked and synced to a central hub.

The tweed-wearing English contingent watched, bemused, as the Japanese gentleman’s valet helped him into what looked like tailored disruptive-pattern clothing. Meanwhile the shoot security admired the M600 TrackingPoint precision-guided rifle he carried. Like women fussing over a new baby, they all wanted a hold.

As hunt time approached, the players fell silent. Technicians wearing headphones unloaded observation drones from an operations van. Sherry on silver platters was brought around by blank-faced men in tailcoats. Curtis and Boyd toasted the hunters and, in his absence, the quarry. Lastly, players were assigned their security—Oakleigh was given Alan, his regular man—before a distant report indicated that the hunt had begun and the players moved off along the lawns to the treeline, bristling with weaponry and quivering with expectation.

Now deep in the woods, Oakleigh heard the distant chug of Land Rover engines and quad bikes drift in on a light breeze. From overhead came the occasional buzz of a drone, but otherwise it was mostly silent, even more so the farther into the woods they ventured and the more dense it became. It was just the way he liked it. Just him and his prey.

“Ahead, sir,” came Alan’s voice, urgent enough that Oakleigh dropped to one knee and brought the Purdey to his shoulder in one slightly panicked movement. The woods loomed large in his crosshairs, the undergrowth keeping secrets.

“Nothing visible,” he called back over his shoulder, then cleared his throat and tried again, this time with less shaking in his voice. “Nothing up ahead.”

“Just hold it there a moment or so, sir, if you would,” replied Alan, and Oakleigh heard him drop his assault rifle to its strap and reach for his walkie-talkie. “This is red team. Request status report…”

“Anything, Alan?” Oakleigh asked over his shoulder.

“No, sir. No visuals from the drones. None of the players report any activity.”

“Then our boy is still hiding.”

“It would seem that way, sir.”

“Why is he not trying to make his way to the perimeter? That’s what they usually do.”

“The first rule of combat is to do the opposite of what the enemy expects, sir.”

“But this isn’t combat. This is a hunt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And it isn’t much of a hunt if the quarry’s hiding, is it?” Oakleigh heard the note of indignation in his voice and knew it sounded less like genuine outrage and more like fear, so he put his eye back to the scope and swept the rifle barrel from left to right, trying to keep a lid on his nerves. He wanted a challenge. But he didn’t want to die.

Don’t be stupid. You’re not going to die.

But then came the crackle of distant gunfire, quickly followed by a squall of static.

“Quarry spotted. Repeat: quarry spotted.”

Oakleigh’s heart jackhammered, and he found himself of two minds. On the one hand, he wanted to be in the thick of the action. Last night he’d even entertained thoughts of being the winning player, imagining the admiration of his fellow hunters, ripples that would extend outwards to London and the corridors of power, the private members’ clubs of the Strand, and chambers of Parliament.

On the other hand, now that the quarry had shown himself capable of evading the hunters and drones for so long, he felt differently.

From behind came a rustling sound and then a thump. Alan made a gurgling sound.

Oakleigh realized too late that something was wrong and wheeled around, fumbling with the rifle.

A shot rang out and Alan’s walkie-talkie squawked.

“Red team, report! Repeat: red team, report!”