Loe raamatut: «Egan Cassidy's Kid»
“I have very little in common with that starry-eyed girl who rushed into your arms—and into your bed—without a second thought.”
“I was very fond of that girl.” Regret edged Egan’s voice.
Fond of. Fond of. The words rang out inside Maggie’s head like a blast from a loudspeaker. Oh, yes, he had been fond of her. And she had loved him. Madly. Passionately. With every beat of her foolish young heart.
And now, everything that was female within her longed to lean on him, to seek comfort and support in the power of his strong arms and big body. She was so alone and had been for what seemed like a lifetime. And who better than her son’s father to give her the solace she desperately needed at a time like this?
But would Egan love and protect her…even though she had kept his son a secret all these years?
Dear Reader,
As you have no doubt noticed, this year marks Silhouette Books’ 20th anniversary, and for the next three months the spotlight shines on Intimate Moments, so we’ve packed our schedule with irresistible temptations.
First off, I’m proud to announce that this month marks the beginning of A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY, a twelve-book continuity series written by eleven of your favorite authors. Sharon Sala, a bestselling, award-winning, absolutely incredible writer, launches things with Mission: Irresistible, and next year she will also write the final book in the continuity. Picture a top secret agency, headed by a man no one sees. Now picture a traitor infiltrating security, chased by a dozen (or more!) of the agency’s best operatives. The trail crisscrosses the globe, and passion is a big part of the picture, until the final scene is played out and the final romance reaches its happy conclusion. Every book in A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY features a self-contained romance, along with a piece of the ongoing puzzle, and enough excitement and suspense to fuel your imagination for the entire year. Don’t miss a single monthly installment!
This month also features new books from top authors such as Beverly Barton, who continues THE PROTECTORS, and Marie Ferrarella, who revisits THE BABY OF THE MONTH CLUB. And in future months look for New York Times bestselling author Linda Howard, with A Game of Chance (yes, it’s Chance Mackenzie’s story at long last), and a special in-line two-in-one collection by Maggie Shayne and Marilyn Pappano, called Who Do You Love? All that and more of A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY, as well as new books from the authors who’ve made Intimate Moments the place to come for a mix of excitement and romance no reader can resist. Enjoy!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Egan Cassidy’s Kid
Beverly Barton
To Billy Ray Beaver, D. G. Hatch
and every man and woman who served their country
during the Vietnam War years. And to their families.
Special thanks to Malaina for permitting me to use her
heartfelt poetry that so beautifully expresses the
emotions shared by many veterans.
BEVERLY BARTON
has been in love with romance since her grandfather gave her an illustrated book of Beauty and the Beast. An avid reader since childhood, Beverly wrote her first book at the age of nine. After marriage to her own “hero” and the births of her daughter and son, Beverly chose to be a full-time homemaker, aka wife, mother, friend and volunteer. The author of over thirty books, Beverly is a member of Romance Writers of America and helped found the Heart of Dixie chapter in Alabama. She has won numerous awards and made the Waldenbooks and USA Today bestseller lists.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Prologue
After all these years, he finally had what he wanted—the perfect ammunition to use against his worst enemy. At long last, he could make Egan Cassidy pay. All he had to do to bring Cassidy to his knees was kidnap Bent Douglas.
General Grant Cullen, the supreme leader of the Ultimate Survivalists, leaned back in his swivel chair and grinned. Revenge was sweet. Hell, just the contemplation of revenge was sweet.
He had waited nearly thirty years for this day and he was going to savor every minute of it.
“I want champagne,” Cullen told his right-hand man, Winn Sherman. “Send one of the boys to the wine cellar. This is a celebration!”
“Then your phone call was the news you’ve been waiting for?” Winn asked.
“Oh, yes.” Grant rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I’ve been searching a lifetime to find a way to destroy Egan Cassidy. I knew that sooner or later the way in which I could inflict great suffering on him would be revealed to me.”
“And the way has been revealed, sir?”
Grant laughed. “Mmm-mmm…” He licked his lips and sighed. “I could have killed Cassidy years ago, but I wanted more. I need to see him suffer, to see him lose everything, the way I did. And now it’s going to happen.”
“I thought you’d told me that Cassidy had nothing to lose, except his life.”
“Ah, but that’s the joy of it. He does have more to lose—much more—and he doesn’t even know it,” Cullen said.
“Then this last private detective uncovered something you can use against Cassidy?”
“Indeed he did. He came upon some information that none of the other idiots I hired ever discovered.”
Grant couldn’t remember when he’d felt more alive. More exhilarated. Pure pleasure wound its way through his mind and body as he fantasized about the moment he would rip out Cassidy’s heart.
“It seems that for the past fourteen years Cassidy has paid for flowers to be placed on the grave of Bentley Tyson III, a former Vietnam vet, from some Podunk little town in Alabama,” Grant explained. “When I learned that bit of information, I knew that Tyson had meant something to Cassidy. So I had my detective investigate a little further. Seems Tyson saved Cassidy’s life in Nam.”
Winn frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. What good is this information if Tyson is dead?”
“Tyson had a younger sister.”
“I see, sir. What significance—?”
“Maggie Tyson Douglas has a fourteen-year-old son.”
“I don’t follow you, sir,” Winn admitted sheepishly. “Tyson’s sister and nephew wouldn’t mean anything to Cassidy, would they?”
“Oh, yes, but they do, my friend. They do. They mean more to him than he realizes. Especially the boy.” Euphoria unlike any he had ever known suffused Cullen’s very soul. “After we’ve arranged to bring Bent Douglas here for a little visit, I plan to telephone Cassidy and tell him just how important Maggie Douglas’s child is to him.”
“I’m confused, sir.” Winn’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You’re inviting this boy here to the fort?”
Cullen shot to his feet, clamped his hand down on Winn’s shoulder and smiled broadly. “We’re going to insist the young man come for a visit. You see, Colonel Sherman, Bent Douglas is Egan Cassidy’s kid and the man doesn’t even know it.”
Chapter 1
“Don’t eat so fast,” Maggie Douglas scolded. “We aren’t running late this morning. We have plenty of time to get you to school early for your student council meeting.”
“I’m hungry, Mama,” Bent replied, his mouth half-full of cereal. “Is my grilled cheese sandwich ready, yet?”
Using a metal spatula, Maggie sliced the sandwich in two, then lifted it from the electric skillet and laid it on her son’s plate. For the past six months the boy had been eating her out of house and home. No matter how much he ate, he remained famished. She smiled, remembering how her father had teased her brother when he’d gone through his ravenous period at about the same age Bent was now.
Maggie wanted to ruffle her son’s hair, the way she’d done when he was younger. But another change that had occurred in the past few months was Bent’s obsession with his hair and clothes. He wore his silky black hair in the latest style: short, moussed and sticking straight up. And his baggy jeans and oversize shirt looked as if they’d been purchased at a secondhand store, despite their hefty price tags.
Bent lifted a sandwich half and stuck it into his mouth. His gaze met Maggie’s just as she rolled her eyes heavenward. He munched on the grilled cheese, swallowed and then washed it all down with a large glass of orange juice.
Bent wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Go ahead and ask me.”
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me if my legs are hollow.” Laughing, Bent shoved back his chair and stood. “You know you said Grandfather used to tell Uncle Bentley that he ate so much his legs had to be hollow.”
“I don’t need to ask you. I’ve come to the conclusion that all teenage boys have hollow legs and sometimes—” she reached up and pecked the top of his head “—hollow noggins, too.”
“Ah, gee, Mama, don’t start that again. Just because I want to go to Florida with the guys this summer doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
Maggie looked up at her six-foot son and a shudder rippled along her nerve endings. Dear Lord, the older he got, the more he resembled his father. And the stronger the wild streak in him grew. A yearning for adventure and excitement that was alien to Maggie. She’d always preferred safety and serenity.
“You’re too young to go off with a bunch of other boys, without a chaperone.” She and Bent had been batting this argument back and forth for weeks now. She had no intention of allowing her fourteen-year-old child to spend a week in Florida with five other boys, ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen.
“Chris’s big brother is going along to chaperone us.” Bent picked up his clear vinyl book bag from the kitchen counter.
“And how old is Chris’s big brother?” Maggie downed the last drops of lukewarm coffee in her mug, set the mug aside and grabbed her purse off the table.
“He’s twenty,” Bent said, as if twenty were an age of great wisdom and responsibility.
Maggie snatched up her car keys and headed toward the back door. “Let’s go. If I have to drop you off a block from the school, then we’d better head out now so you’ll have time to walk that extra block.”
Bent grabbed Maggie’s shoulder, then leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re the absolute best mom. Some mothers wouldn’t understand why a guy my age would be embarrassed to have his mommy drive him to school every day.”
Maggie caressed her kissed cheek. Those sweet moments of little-boy affection were few and far between these days. Her only child was growing up—fast. Each day she noted some small change, some almost indiscernible way he had transformed from a boy into a young man.
“Buttering me up won’t work, you know.” She opened the kitchen door and shooed him outside. “You aren’t going to Florida this summer, unless you go with me.”
Bent shrugged. “If you say so.”
He let the subject drop, but Maggie knew the issue was far from dead. Her son was a good kid, who’d given her very little trouble over the years, but she knew that the wanderlust in him would sooner or later break her heart. She could protect him, now, while he was still underage, but what would happen once he reached eighteen?
Ten minutes later, Maggie pulled her Cadillac over to the curb, one block from Parsons City High School. “Do you need any money?”
Bent flung open the door, glanced over his shoulders and smiled. Even his smile reminded her of his father’s.
“Got plenty,” Bent said. “You just gave me twenty Monday, remember?”
Maggie nodded. “Have a good one. And don’t be late this afternoon. You’re getting fitted for your tux at four-thirty so you need to meet me at the bookstore by four.”
He slid out of the car, then leaned over and peered inside, his smile unwavering. “I’ll meet you at the bookstore no later than four.” With that said, he slammed the door and walked down the sidewalk.
Maggie watched him for a few minutes, then eased the car away from the curb and out into traffic. Another perfectly ordinary day, she thought, then sighed contentedly. Perhaps her life wasn’t perfect, but it was good. Maybe she didn’t have a special man in her life and hadn’t had anyone since her divorce from Gil Douglas four years ago, but she was content. She had the most wonderful child in the whole world, a job she loved, enough money for Bent’s college as well as her old age and both she and Bent were blessed with excellent health. What more could a woman want?
A sudden, unexpected memory flashed through her mind. Her heartbeat accelerated. Heat flushed her body. Why had she thought about him? she wondered. She had tried to forget, tried not to ever think about that week they’d spent together and the way she had felt when she was with him. Fifteen years was a long time. Long enough for her to have gotten over her infatuation. So, why had she been thinking about Egan Cassidy so often lately? Was it because Bent had grown up to be a carbon copy of him?
She couldn’t help wondering where Egan was now. Was he even alive? Considering his profession, he could have been killed years ago. Emotion lodged in her throat. Despite the fact that a part of her hated him, she couldn’t bear the thought that he might be dead. As surely as she hated him, she still cared. After all, he was Bent’s father.
“Psst… Hey, kid, are you Bentley Tyson Douglas?” a deep, masculine voice asked.
Bent jerked his head around, seeking the man who had called out to him. “Who wants to know?”
A big, burly guy wearing faded jeans and an army fatigue shirt stepped out from behind a car in the parking lot at Bent’s right. “I’m a friend of a friend of your old man’s.”
Bent inspected the rather unsavory-looking character, from his shaggy dark beard to his scuffed leather boots. Bent very seriously doubted that this man was a friend of anyone Gil Douglas referred to as even an acquaintance. His adoptive father was one of the biggest snobs in the world. He probably wouldn’t let a guy who looked like this man did walk his dog.
“So? What do you want?” Bent asked.
“I got a kid fixing to start school here next year,” the man said, easing closer and closer. “Thought maybe you could tell me about the teachers and stuff like that.”
Bent glanced into the mostly empty parking lot. It’d be another twenty minutes or so before the majority of his fellow students would start arriving. The only cars already here belonged to a few teachers on early duty and the other student council members. But right this minute, he didn’t see another soul around. Instinct warned him not to trust this man. Maybe he was selling dope. Or maybe he was just a nutcase. Whatever, there was something all wrong about him.
Across the street, on the school grounds, Bent noticed a couple of students entering the building, but they were too far away to hear him if he yelled.
What are you afraid of, Douglas? he asked himself. You’re not some little kid. You’re a pretty big guy, so if this man tries anything funny, you can handle him, can’t you?
“Look, I haven’t got time to talk,” Bent said, taking several steps backward until he eased off the sidewalk and into the street.
The man grinned. Bent didn’t like that sinister smirk. Just as he started to turn and make a mad dash toward the schoolyard, he heard the roar of a car’s engine. Before he had a chance to run, the big man moved in on him. Tires screeched. Someone grabbed him from behind. A hand holding a foul-smelling rag clamped down over his nose and mouth. With expert ease, the two men lifted him and tossed him into the back of the car.
The last thing Bent remembered was the car speeding away down the street.
“So how does mama bear feel about her cub going to his first prom?” Janice Deweese stacked the tattered books into a neat pile, being careful not to crease any of the loose pages. “And with an older woman!”
“Grace Felton is only two years older than Bent,” Maggie corrected. “She’s hardly an older woman. Besides, I’ve known Grace’s parents all my life and—”
“She’s quite suitable for Bent.”
“Lord, did I sound that snobbish?” Maggie stood perched on a tall, wooden ladder placed against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves at the back of the room.
“I did hear a hint of Gil Douglas in that comment.” Janice eyed the books in front of her. “Should I start on these today or wait until tomorrow? Repairing all eight of them will require a great deal of patience.”
Maggie checked her wristwatch. “Since it’s nearly four, why don’t you wait and get started on that job first thing in the morning. Bent should be here soon and I’ll need you to close up shop for me today.”
“Have you two settled your trip-to-Florida argument?” Janice slid off the stool behind the checkout counter and stretched to her full five-foot height.
“As far as I’m concerned it’s settled.” One by one, Maggie placed the recent shipment of books, which were collections of first-person Civil War accounts, into their appropriate slots on the shelves. “Bent is too young to go off to Florida with a bunch of other teenage boys. He’ll have time enough to indulge his adventurous streak after he turns eighteen.”
“Bent’s a great kid, you know. I don’t think you need to worry too much about him. You’ve done a wonderful job of raising him without a father,” Janice said.
“But Bent has a father who—”
“Who wasn’t much of a parent, even before you two got a divorce. Let’s face it, Maggie, you’ve brought up your son with practically no help from Gil Douglas.”
“Gil tried.” Maggie wished she could have loved Gil the way a woman should love her husband. Perhaps if she had, Gil might have been a better father to Bent. In the beginning, he had made a valiant effort, had even adopted Bent. But a man like Gil Douglas just wasn’t cut out to raise another man’s son.
“Face the truth, Maggie. Gil couldn’t get past the fact that you were engaged to him when you had your little fling with Egan Cassidy.”
Maggie tensed. “I’ve asked you not to mention his name.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”
That was the problem, Maggie thought. The memories weren’t bad. They were bittersweet, but not bad. Nothing had prepared her for an affair with a man like Egan. She had been swept away by a passion unlike anything she’d known—before or since.
“It’s all right,” Maggie said. “Just try not to forget again.”
The bell over the front door jingled as a customer entered. Both Janice and Maggie glanced at the entrance. Mrs. Newsom, a regular patron who collected first editions and had a passion for books of every kind, waved and smiled.
“You two just keep on doing whatever you’re doing,” Mrs. Newsom said, her sweet grin deepening the laugh lines around her mouth. “I just came to browse. I haven’t been by in several days and I’m having withdrawal symptoms.” Her girlish laughter belied the fact that she was seventy.
Maggie climbed down the ladder, shoved it to the end of the stacks and emerged from the dark cavern of high bookshelves into the airy lightness at the front of the store, where the shelves were low and spaced farther apart. She checked her watch again. Four o’clock exactly. Bent should arrive any minute now. Her son was always punctual. A trait he had either inherited or learned from her.
Bent regained consciousness slowly, his mind fuzzy, his body decidedly uncomfortable. Where was he? What had happened? He attempted to move, but found himself unable to do more than twitch. Someone had bound his hands and feet. He tried to call out and suddenly realized that he’d also been gagged.
The guy in the school parking lot and someone who’d come up from behind had drugged him and tossed him into a car.
Bent looked all around and saw total darkness. But he felt the steady rotation of tires on blacktop and heard the hum of an engine. He was still in a car, only now he was inside the trunk.
Obviously he’d been kidnapped. But why? Who were these guys and what did they want with him? His mother’s finances were healthy enough for her to be considered wealthy by some standards, but he knew for a fact that her net worth was less than a million. Her bookstore, which specialized in rare and out-of-print books, barely broke even, so she relied on interest and dividends from her investments for her livelihood. So why would anyone kidnap him when there were kids out there whose parents were multimillionaires? It just didn’t make sense.
Bent had heard about young boys and girls being kidnapped and sold on the black market, so he couldn’t help wondering if his abductors planned to ship him overseas. The thought of winding up on an auction block and being sold to the highest bidder soured Bent’s stomach. Or he could end up in some seedy brothel, a plaything for dirty old men. A shiver racked his body. He’d rather die first!
But he had no intention of dying or of being used as a sex slave. He’d find a way to get out of this mess. He wasn’t going to give up without one hell of a fight!
“I can’t understand where Bent is,” Maggie said, checking her watch again. “It’s ten after five. He always calls if he’s running late and he hasn’t called.”
Janice grasped Maggie’s trembling hands into her steady ones and squeezed tightly. “He’s all right. Maybe he forgot. Or he could be goofing off with the guys or—”
Maggie jerked her hands free. “Something’s wrong. He’s been in an accident or… Oh, God, where is he?”
“Do you want me to check the hospital? I can call the ER.”
“If he’d been in an accident, the police would have contacted me by now, wouldn’t they?”
“I think so. Yes, of course they would have.”
Maggie paced the floor, her soft leather shoes quiet against the wood’s shiny patina. “I’m going to call some of his friends, first, before I panic. He usually catches a ride with Chris or Mark or sometimes Jarred.”
“So call their houses and find out if maybe he’s with one of them. And if he just forgot about calling you, don’t give him a hard time.”
“Oh, I won’t give him a hard time,” Maggie said. “I’ll just wring his neck for worrying me to death.”
Setting her rear end on the edge of her desk in the office alcove, separated from the bookstore by a pair of brocade curtains, Maggie lifted the telephone and dialed Chris McWilliams’s number first.
Fifteen minutes and six calls later, Maggie knew what she had to do. Janice stood at her side, a true friend, desperate to help in any way she could. With moisture glazing her eyes, Maggie exchanged a resigned look with Janice, then lifted the receiver and dialed one final number.
Paul Spencer, Parsons City’s chief of police answered. “Spencer here.”
“Yes, this is Maggie Douglas. I’d like to report a missing child.”
“Whose child is missing?” he asked.
“Mine.”
“Bent’s missing?” Paul, who’d gone to high school with Maggie, asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice.
“I’ve contacted all his friends and even talked to Mr. Wellborn, the school principal. Although I dropped him at school this morning—early—for a student council meeting, he never arrived. No one has seen him all day. Oh, God, Paul…help me.”
“Are you at home or at the shop?”
“I’m still downtown at the shop.”
“Stay where you are. I’ll be right over. As soon as you fill out the N.C.I.C form, we’ll get it entered into the computer. But I’ll go ahead and have a couple of men start checking around to see what they can find.”
“Thank you.” The receiver dangled from Maggie’s fingers. Every nerve in her body screamed. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her child. Not to Bent, the boy she loved more than life itself.
Janice took the telephone from Maggie and returned the receiver to its cradle, then she wrapped her arms around her best friend. Maggie hugged Janice fiercely as she tried to control her frazzled emotions. This was a parent’s worst nightmare. A missing child. She kept picturing Bent hurt and alone, crying for help. Then that scenario passed from her mind and another quickly took its place. Bent kidnapped and abused—perhaps even killed.
Maggie clenched her teeth tightly in an effort not to scream aloud.
Egan Cassidy poured himself a glass of Grand cru Chablis as he watched the salmon steak sizzling on the indoor grill. As a general rule, he dined alone, as he did tonight. Occasionally he had beer and a sandwich at a local bar with another Dundee agent. And once in a blue moon he actually took a woman out to dinner. But as he grew older, he found his penchant for solitude strengthening.
He liked most of his fellow Dundee agents, but except for two or three, they were younger than he. Perhaps the age difference was the reason he had very little in common with most of the other employees of the premiere private security and investigation firm in the Southeast, some said in the entire United States.
And as for the ladies—he’d never been a womanizer, not even in his youth. There had been special women, of course, and a few minor flirtations. But it had been years since he’d dated anyone on a regular basis. He had found that most of the women close to his age, those within a ten-year-span older or younger, were often bitter from a divorce or desperate because they’d never married. And he found younger women, especially those in their twenties, a breed unto themselves. Whenever he dated a woman under thirty, he somehow felt as if he were dating his daughter’s best friend. Of course, he didn’t have a daughter, but the fact was that at the ripe old age of forty-seven he easily could have a twenty-five-year-old daughter.
Egan turned the salmon steak out onto a plate, then carried the plate and the wine to the table in his kitchen. Although the kitchen in his Atlanta home was ultramodern, his table and chairs were antiques that he’d brought here from his apartment in Memphis. Over the years, while he’d traveled the world as a soldier of fortune, he had always returned to the States, so he’d maintained a place in his old hometown. But two years ago, after joining the Dundee Agency, he’d bought a home in Atlanta and moved his furniture, many priceless antiques, into his newly purchased two-story town house.
The salmon flaked to the touch of his fork and melted like butter when he put it into his mouth. He ate slowly, savoring every bite. He enjoyed cooking and had found that he was a rather good chef.
Egan poured himself more Chablis, then stood, picked up the bowl of fresh raspberries on the counter and headed for the living room. He could clean up later, before bedtime, he thought. As he entered the twenty-by-twenty room, he punched a button on the CD player and the strains of the incomparable Stan Getz’s saxophone rendition of “Body and Soul” filled the room. The stereo system he and his friend and fellow Dundee agent, Hunter Whitelaw, had installed was state-of-the-art. The best money could buy. Everything Egan owned was the best.
Easing down into the soft, lush leather chair, he sighed and closed his eyes, savoring the good music as he had savored the good food. Maybe growing up on the mean streets of Memphis, with no one except an alcoholic father for family, had whetted Egan’s appetite for the good things in life. And maybe his lack of a decent upbringing and his brief tenure in Vietnam when he’d been barely eighteen had predisposed him for the occupation to which he had devoted himself for twenty-five years. He’d made a lot of money as a mercenary and had invested wisely, turning his ill-gained earnings into quite a tidy sum. He had more than enough money, so if he chose to never work again, he could maintain his current lifestyle as long as he lived.
Two hours later, the kitchen cleaned and the bottle of Chablis half-empty, Egan made his way into his small home office. The bookshelves and furniture were a light oak and the walls a soft cream. The only color in the room was the dark green, tufted-back leather chair behind his desk. This was the one room in the town house that his decorator hadn’t touched. He smiled when he remembered Heather Sims. She’d been interested—very interested. And if he had chosen to pursue a relationship with her, she would have been only too happy to have filled his lonely hours with idle chitchat and hot sex. Three dates, one night of vigorous lovemaking and they had parted as friends.
Egan sat, then opened his notebook and picked up a pen. No one knew that he wrote poetry. Not that he was ashamed, just that to him it was such a private endeavor. At first, it had been a catharsis, and perhaps even now it still was.
With pen in hand, he wrote.
because he was eighteen
he was considered
man enough to fight old men’s wars…
The ringing telephone jarred him from his memories, from a time long ago when he’d lived a nightmare—a boy trapped in the politicians’ war, a boy who became a man the hard way.
Egan lifted the receiver. “Cassidy here.”
“Well, well, well. Hello, old friend.”
Egan’s blood ran cold. He hadn’t heard that voice in years. The last time he’d run into Grant Cullen, they’d both been in the Middle East, both doing nasty little jobs for nasty little men. When had that been, six years ago? No, more like eight.
“What do you want, Cullen?”
“Now, is that any way to talk to an old friend?”
“We were never friends.”
Cullen laughed and the sound of his laughter chilled Egan to the bone. Something was wrong. Bad wrong. His gut instincts warned him that this phone call meant big trouble.
“You’re right,” Grant Cullen agreed. “Neither of us has ever had many friends, have we?”
Tasuta katkend on lõppenud.
