The Return of Connor Mansfield

“He’s right.” Jones gave Raleigh a level look, then turned an accusing glare at Darby.

She recognized the accusation and sat taller, stiffening, her expression defensive as she sputtered, “I didn’t—the doctor’s office called me and—how was I to know—”

“It’s not your fault. No one’s blaming you.” Connor sent Jones a hard look and put a supportive hand on Darby’s arm, which she jerked away. “But you raise another good point. Savannah’s doctor needs to know the truth. My biological connection to Savannah could be relevant to Savannah’s care. Also however many members of her staff as needed to contain the speculation already circulating in the office.”

Raleigh rocked back on two legs of his chair, scrubbing both hands over his face. “God bless America, Sam. What happened to staying in town only long enough to talk to the kid’s doctor then getting the hell outta Dodge? You can make the donation from Dallas, can’t you?”

All eyes swung toward Connor, and his pulse rose, torn between what he knew would keep his family safe and his selfish desire to stay and get to know his daughter, patch things up with Darby, spend precious time with his family.

“Yeah, the doctor said I could donate from Dallas, if I proved a close enough match.” A stir of reaction interrupted him, sighs of disappointment from his parents, grunts of satisfaction from the agents. He looked to Darby, needing some measure of where her heart was. Her jaw was tight with stubborn anger, but her green eyes were full of pain and discontent. “But she also said the ideal arrangement, the way she preferred, was for me to be here.”

As he repeated the doctor’s words, a certainty washed through him, a resolve that settled the debate warring inside him. “I want only the best for Savannah. If I can be my daughter’s donor, I’ll do it from here. Even if it is only marginally better logistically, I want ideal circumstances for my little girl.”

Darby’s expression was conflicted. The struggle between gratitude and resentment, fear and hope, grief and joy was plain in her eyes. Connor’s chest ached for the hurt he’d caused her, the doubts and bitterness he was responsible for.

Raleigh shook his head, clearly unhappy with Connor’s decision. “Do you understand what you’re risking?”

“Of course I do. And I’m not saying I plan to wave a red flag in front of Gale Industries. I’ll lay low, take precautions, continue wearing a disguise in public.” He flicked his hand toward the fake beard in front of him. “Whatever it takes.” He leaned forward, drilling Raleigh with a hard stare and jabbing his finger into the table. “But I need you to protect my family. I need you to make sure the Gales don’t get anywhere near Darby or Savannah or any of the people I love.”

“Our job is to protect you,” Raleigh countered. “And the best way to do that is to get you back to Dallas and try to minimize the exposure from the cracks in your cover.”

“I’m not leaving Lagniappe until I’ve done all I can to save Savannah.” He hoped his tone conveyed his determination on that point. “Maybe that will be tomorrow, if I’m not a close enough match to her. But if I am, I need to know you’ll do everything in your power to keep my family safe while I’m here.”

Jones drummed the table with his thumb. “We’re only two people, man. We’re good, but we’re not superhuman. We’ll do what we can to minimize the threat to your family, but we can’t be everywhere. You’re still our priority, the witness in WitSec, and where our efforts have to be focused.”

“So bring in more men. Or I’ll hire private security.”

Jones raised a hand. “No. No outside hires.” He glanced briefly to Raleigh for some silent confirmation or perhaps giving him a chance to object. “We’ll see about getting a little backup, but the department is stretched kinda thin these days.”

Connor’s father, Stan, had been taking in the conversation from the opposite end of the table, his arms folded over his chest and his intense scrutiny shifting from one speaker to another. Now he pushed his chair back and stood. “Bring in extra men if you want, but don’t underestimate the ability of the Mansfield men to protect our own.”

Grant had been leaning against the kitchen counter. Now he stepped forward, nodding. “That’s right. Every one of the men in this family is trained in firearms and licensed to carry concealed. Dad spent fifteen years in the army, and Hunter spent five years in the reserves. I’ve been hunting since I was twelve.”

“What’s the saying?” Connor’s mother asked. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

The marshals exchanged another unreadable look.

“Well, being alert to problems will certainly help, but these men are professional killers, not common street thugs.” Raleigh rose from the table. “Let me make a few calls, see about getting an extra team down here.”

“Then we should head back to the hotel soon,” Jones said, sending Connor a direct look.

“A hotel?” Julia said, her tone full of dismay, as if Jones had suggested they were sleeping in the gutter. “But this is Connor’s home. He should stay with his family.”

“We have to be with him in order to guard him.” Jones raised one eyebrow as if driving home his point.

“And we have to be with my family in order to keep them safe.” Connor sent the marshal a challenging stare. “I’m staying here. With Darby and my daughter.”

Darby’s head jerked up, and her gaze clashed with his. “You’re what?”

“I want to know you’re safe. If somehow word of my return has leaked beyond this family and the doctor’s office, which is a real possibility, I don’t want you here alone. What better protection than two U.S. Marshals and the man who’d die defending you?”

Darby’s cheeks paled, and her eyes widened.

Connor reached for her, and stroking her chin, he whispered, “Don’t look so surprised, Dar. I already died once to protect you. I’d do it again, for real, if needed.”

“Oh, Connor,” his mother said, her voice choked. “Don’t say that! It’s bad luck!” Her hand fluttered to her chest where she rubbed the cross charm on her necklace.

Darby huffed an exasperated breath and flattened her hands on the table. “Looks like the decision’s made for me.” She pushed to her feet. “Marshals, you can stay in the guest room. The decor is a bit juvenile, since I had in mind having my nieces and nephews staying with me when I decorated it. But the twin beds are new and should be comfortable. You—” she faced Connor, a spark of ire lighting her jade gaze “—can sleep on the couch.”

Jones chuckled under his breath. Raleigh opened his mouth as if to protest, then snapped it closed. Scowling, he jammed his hands in his pockets and jangled his keys. “I feel a FUBAR in the making.”

Darby pushed her chair back under the table and headed for the door. “I’m going to check on Savannah.”

Savannah. Thoughts of his sweet daughter lifted Connor’s spirits, which had taken a dive while discussing the serious security threats to his family. As concerned as he was by the unplanned turn of events, he couldn’t regret having time, brief as it may be, with his daughter. And no matter how angry Darby was with him for his past choices, this unexpected time with her gave him a chance, however remote, of healing the wounds he’d caused her.

Chapter 7

James Gale positioned his hands over his son’s, adjusting the boy’s grip on the golf club. “Like this. Keep your wrists straight.”

Billy did as instructed, then tipped his head back to look up at his father. “Like this?”

James grinned proudly and stepped back. “Perfect. Now swing away! In the hole!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Gale?”

James spun to face the man who approached, his jaw tight. “Not now!” He turned back to watch Billy’s swing.

The chubby man he recognized as one of his brother’s thugs persisted. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but—”

Billy glanced up from his stance with a startled look, interrupting his address of the ball.

James lifted a hand. “I’m sorry, Billy. Hold on.” He pivoted to the interloper, his body taut. “Do you not know how rude it is to disturb a golfer as he takes his swing?”

“I—”

“Did you not hear me say, Not now?”

“It’s important.”

“So is my time with my son.”

“But—”

James pointed a finger at the man and shot him a glare that made lesser men shiver in their shoes. “Silence. My son is taking his swing.” He turned back to Billy. “Go ahead. Firm wrists.”

With an uneasy glance to the chubby man behind his father, Billy addressed the ball again, swung and hit a beautiful drive that dropped onto the putting green and rolled within five feet of the hole.