“Unfortunately, that’s true. It stinks that he has to hurt more than one girl before anyone takes it seriously.”
“Yeah.” She sounded militant. Then, the next instant, pathetically young. “I wish I hadn’t let him—”
“Let him?” That pissed Conall off. “He had the power, Sorrel, not you. Every single thing that happened is on him. You are not responsible. Don’t ever even think that again.”
“Okay.” Her teeth closed on her lower lip. Then she said softly, “I’ll try not to.”
He made an effort to hide his anger for fear she’d misunderstand it. “Good girl.”
“Is it time for dinner?”
“Lia hasn’t called us yet. I’m going upstairs to check in with Jeff. Knock when it’s time, okay?”
She nodded, smiled, a shy blooming of beauty to come. “Thank you.”
He wasn’t going to say you’re welcome, because she didn’t owe him for a thing. It enraged Conall to think of her so vulnerable, betrayed by someone she should have been able to trust. It was worse, so much worse, than the kind of betrayals he took for granted from the scum he dealt with on the job. Would Sorrel ever truly be all right again? He doubted she would; faith in other people, once lost, was probably impossible to recapture.
Except, like him, she’d gotten lucky. Lia would be her refuge until she no longer needed one. One person could make all the difference.
Halfway up the attic stairs, his steps slowed. Was it possible he’d regained his own faith?
I believe that Duncan loved me all that time. It wasn’t entirely duty.
And, more shocking, I believe that Lia will never fail anyone she loves.
Lucky Sorrel.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CONALL CROUCHED BEHIND a thin screen of blackberries. He was only a few feet on Lia’s side of the barbed wire fence that separated her acreage from the neighbor’s. Niall crouched beside him, Glock in his hand. Seeing it, Conall had noted the irony that he and his brother had chosen the exact same serve weapon.
Duncan and one of his men, a detective named Sean, were elsewhere along the perimeter, also armed and prepared to move. Conall’s intense focus was split between the utility truck bumping along the gravel road, raising a cloud of dust, and the house that lay a few hundred yards across rough pasture. The dogs had given some deep-throated warning barks but were now silent as they raced for the head of the driveway to meet the truck.
“Good thing neither of them wandered this way,” Niall muttered.
Conall grunted. He carried a stun gun, not his usual weapon of choice, but he was reluctant to kill the damn dogs if he didn’t have to. They were only doing their job.
As the truck rumbled up to the house, the front door opened and a man emerged. The older of the two, Joseph Cufley had thin, graying hair and a body that was going soft. Through his binoculars, Conall tried to tell if he was armed. Henderson parked, then rolled down his window.
His voice came through loud and clear. Good. Wires had been known to fail.
“The dogs gonna bite me?”
“Rufus, Jinx, heel. Sit,” Cufley snapped.
The two Dobermans obeyed, but their cropped ears were sharp and their eyes stayed unwaveringly on the intruder.
After displaying understandable hesitancy, Henderson opened his door and got out. “Glad you were home,” he said, sounding a little nervous. “PUD. Here to read your meter.”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
They already knew the meter was on the south side of the house, right beneath the dining room window. It would be natural with the kind of weather they were having for the residents to leave that window open some of the time. Maybe to have some unwary conversations over their pizza or frozen lasagna. Perfect place for a bug.
Primed, Jeff nodded and started around the house. To Conall’s dismay, Cufley followed close behind, the dogs with him.
Niall was swearing softly. Conall lost Henderson visually, but knew Duncan would have picked him up. Jeff was doing a hell of a job, somewhat to Conall’s surprise, chatting about the run of sunshine and how those were mighty good looking dogs. “Do you breed Dobermans?” he asked, real friendly but still maybe a little nervous. Who wouldn’t be?