The Return of Connor Mansfield

“Darby.” Jillian appeared behind the receptionist, frowning and shaking her head. “I tried to keep him here, but when I mentioned you wanted to meet him, he got agitated, and they left in a big hurry.”

She stiffened. “They? He had...someone with him?”

“Yeah. A big guy. Light brown hair. About fifty. Clean-cut and—”

Darby waved her quiet. “Never mind. How long ago did they leave?”

“They just did. Seconds before you got here. I’m sorry—”

Darby spun back toward the door, leaving her purse, encumbering ballast, on the receptionist’s counter. Heart in her throat, she sped back down the stairs, but this time made her way toward the parking garage. She had to have at least a glimpse of this man whose DNA tests were so confoundingly wrong. Unless...

He initiated contact...

Dahr-by...

She slammed through the heavy door to the parking garage and skidded to a stop on the concrete landing. From the slightly raised vantage point, she could better see over the top of cars on this, the main deck of the garage. She swept a glance down each aisle and spotted three men, an African American, a tall man with light brown hair and a raven-haired man with a beard, sunglasses and baseball cap.

“Mr. Orlean?” she called, her breathless shout drowned out by noise from the street below. She hurried down the steps and chased after the men. “Mr. Orlean?”

She stared at the back of the man in the cap as she ran to catch them. The broad shoulders and confidence in his stride seemed familiar, though his hair was many shades darker than Connor’s.

She closed the gap between them before trying again to get their attention. “Mr. Orlean! Please, wait!”

The man in the cap stiffened, slowed. When he started to turn, the black man beside him glanced over his shoulder and pushed the dark-haired man toward a silver sedan. With the fob in his hand, the tall, older man clicked the locks off and opened the back door of the sedan. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for the man in the cap to get in the car.

They weren’t just ignoring her; they were escaping from her. Puzzled and more than a bit miffed, Darby shouted again, “Wait! Sam Orlean, I need to talk to you!”

When she reached the silver sedan, the black man tried to block her path, but she shoved past him. She grabbed the arm of the man she believed was Sam Orlean as he tried to climb in the backseat. “Wait!”

He froze for a moment, dropped his chin to his chest then, straightening to his full height, he turned.

Mumbling an earthy obscenity, the older man stepped forward as if to intervene, but Orlean raised a hand to stop him.

Winded, Darby gasped for a breath and grabbed the open car door for support, her body shaking as she studied the beard-covered face. The man’s coloring was wrong, his hair too dark. His eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses and shaded by the cap. And yet...

He stood stock-still, except for a slight shudder as he drew a stuttering breath.

The chant in Darby’s brain screamed louder— Connor, Connor, Connor! Reaching up, she snatched away his cap, pulled his sunglasses off.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, scowling at the cars parked across the aisle.

“Look at me,” she whispered, and when he refused, she screamed, “Look at me, damn it!”

She grabbed his chin and wrenched his head toward her. When he lifted his eyes to hers, they were damp with tears, brimming with regret and apology. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her knees buckled, and her lungs seized.

She knew those golden-brown eyes. Intimately. They were her daughter’s eyes.

“Connor.” Her voice squeaked as her throat clogged with emotion. Her body shook with unspent adrenaline, and she lifted a hand toward his cheek. He wrapped long, warm fingers around hers, moving her hand off his face and squeezing her hand. Stunned, she grappled with what her heart was telling her, while her brain rejected the truth. A hesitant joy filled her chest like helium, expanding, lifting her hope. But a darker emotion lurked at the edges of her shock. She shoved the darkness aside, not wanting anything to shadow the moment.

Tears filled her eyes as a half laugh, half sob bubbled up from her chest. “You’re alive!”

He gave the slightest of nods, but that tiny confirmation sent a tidal wave of conflicting emotions coursing through her. Relief and elation tangled with disbelief. She surged forward to hug him, to celebrate their reunion. But the older man beside them caught her arm, separating them. “Not here.”

She blinked her confusion, looking to Connor for answers. His expression was grim, full of grief and regret. “I’m sorry.”

His apology released the darkness she’d tried to hold at bay. A chill crept from her scalp to her toes as the first flicker of understanding dawned on her. Anger and resentment elbowed past her other emotions.

He’d left her. On purpose. He’d deceived her, let her think he was dead. He’d said he loved her, but he’d abandoned her.

Just like her father.

Her hand flew up, surprising herself as much as him when she struck his cheek. Hard. “You bastard!”

“That’s enough,” the black man growled. He grabbed her, restraining her arms as he pulled her away from Connor.

Darby fought the captive arms. Furious. Heartbroken. “You lied to me! You said you loved me!” she spat at Connor.

“Get in.” With a hand on Connor’s head, the older man pushed him into the backseat.

“No!” she shouted, desperation rearing its head. She couldn’t lose Connor again. “Wait!”

The older man hitched his head to the black man, whose muscular arms held her like a vise. He hitched his head toward the backseat. “Bring her. We need to contain this.”

Fear clawed inside her as the black man lifted her effortlessly and shoved her in the backseat.

“What the hell?” Connor barked. “Let her go!”

When her abductor pushed into the car behind her, she toppled onto Connor’s lap. He caught her, steadying her as the car engine roared to life. Panic choked her as the sedan pulled sharply out of the parking space and lurched down the garage aisle. She clung to Connor’s arm for balance.

“Let me out! Please!” Tears and terror strangled her. “I have to get back to Savannah. My daughter needs me!”

“Damn it, Jones!” Connor snarled. “This was never part of the plan. What are you doing?”

We need to contain this. An ominous shiver spun through her. Who were these men, and what was Connor involved in? What was she now involved in?

* * *

Connor scowled at Marshal Jones as Raleigh pulled out of the parking garage onto the city street. Forcing Darby into a car against her will was not the best way to start an already difficult conversation. She was understandably confused, terrified.

“You’re safe, Darby,” he said and stroked a hand down her back, trying to calm her. She jerked away from his touch and sent him a dirty look. In her eyes he saw hurt, confusion, fear...but mostly fury. His return from the dead had her royally pissed.

Connor sighed, his heart heavy. Had he really thought that she’d simply fall into his arms and all would be forgiven and forgotten? That she’d still love him after so many years? That the lie of his faked death and subsequent hurt he’d caused could be swept aside merely by returning from the grave?

Using the rearview mirror, Marshal Raleigh glanced to the backseat at Jones. “What’s the plan? Where am I going? Back to the hotel?”

Darby lunged toward the front seat, grabbing at Raleigh’s arm. “Take me to St. Mary’s Hospital! My daughter is there. We were about to take her home!”

Jones pulled Darby off Raleigh. “Not yet. We have to talk.”