“Holy smokes, you really are angry, aren’t you?”
“I’m so angry I bet I could turn him into a toad without any help from the magic.”
Greylen MacKeage was no saint, nor did he have any desire to become one. He was wise enough, however, to know he shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts of violence when he was getting so close to meeting his Maker. But God help him, he really wanted to beat Jack Stone to a bloody pulp for what the bastard had put his little girl through. Then again, his warrior’s heart made him wonder if he might have behaved just as badly toward Grace thirty-six years ago, when she had been in danger.
“You’re saying ye have no idea why the man was murdered,” Grey reiterated. “Only that you suspect it had something to do with the study being conducted on the tundra. May I ask why ye never bothered to find out?”
“Because it wasn’t any of my business,” Jack told him. “Once Megan was safely out of the way, I focused only on getting the boy back to his parents in one piece. The murder, and whoever did it, is the Canadian police’s problem.”
“Yet you’re thinking now that the problem has followed my daughter home.”
“Yes.” Jack Stone shifted in his chair beside the woodstove, opposite Grey. “I did discover who headed the organization funding the boy’s education. It’s the man Megan is working for now, Mark Collins. And I find that a bit too much of a coincidence.”
Grey suddenly stood up, hiding his smile when Jack flinched. Good. If he couldn’t beat him up, by God, at least he could enjoy watching the bastard squirm. Grey walked to the counter, grabbed the bottle of scotch, and refilled Jack’s empty glass before sitting back down and filling his own. “I’ll tell Megan she has to resign her position immediately.”
Jack took a gulp of the scotch. “That’s not going to make the problem go away. Collins will simply find another way to get to her.”
Grey nodded. “You’re right. If he went to the trouble of fabricating this project and she resigns, he may come at her directly. Any idea why, Chief?”
“Nope,” Jack said, frowning down at his glass. “Until Collins’s name came up at dinner an hour ago, I thought the problem had stayed in Canada.” He looked toward the woodstove, staring at the fire lapping the glass. “I need to think about the connection.”
“I’ll have Megan move back to Gù Brath until this matter is cleared up.”
Jack looked up in alarm. “You can’t mean to tell her.”
Greylen lifted one brow. “Are you not a man who learns from his mistakes?”
“She’ll throw a fit when she finds out it was Collins who planted that kid on her study, to watch over whatever he was doing on the tundra. She might confront him herself.”
Grey leaned back in his chair. “I see you’ve come to know my daughter quite well.” He shook his head. “I can control her. And if not, then I’ll ask her cousin Robbie MacBain to have a talk with her.”
Jack Stone’s face darkened, and Grey once again stifled a smile. “No offense, MacKeage,” Jack said in a growl, “but Megan is my responsibility now. She is carrying my child.”
Grey made a point of letting his gaze travel over Jack’s battered body. “No offense, Stone,” he growled back. “But ye seem to be having trouble defending yourself.”
“I am aware of my track record here in Pine Creek, but maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge me. I can be surprisingly effective when I put my mind to it.”
“Can ye, now?”
Jack’s eyes darkened to the color of tempered steel. “Pacifism is not the same as defenselessness, MacKeage. When push comes to shove, I am more than capable of protecting what’s mine.”
With his door closed and a request that Ethel send his phone calls to Simon, Jack sat in his office tucked in the back corner of the police station. The citizens of Pine Creek, Frog Cove, and Lost Gore had spared no expense in remodeling the hundred-year-old storefront on Main Street. They reasoned that by putting an impressive face on law and order, criminals would think twice about targeting their tiny resort communities.
Too bad their plan wasn’t working.
Not that his own plan was doing any better. In winning back Megan, he had gone from being optimistically hopeful to suddenly desperate last night at dinner. What in hell was Mark Collins up to on the tundra, and what was his connection to Megan?
Jack laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his plush leather chair as he stared at the four yellow pads of paper lined up on his desk. Each pad represented a problem he was dealing with; four seemingly unconnected issues occurring simultaneously.
Why, then, was his gut telling him a common thread held them together?
Lord, he hated puzzles. He didn’t care how hard his military superiors had tried to persuade him that he belonged in covert intelligence; Jack had no patience with puzzles as a kid, and he hadn’t grown any fonder of them since. And despite having a sixth sense, as they’d called it, for seeing threads running through the information he’d gathered for them, puzzles still drove him crazy.
Jack studied the first pad, where he’d written LITTLE BASTARDS in bold letters across the top. This was the problem that had gotten him hired, and likely the only one that wasn’t connected to the others.
Pad two, THE BREAK-INS, denoted much more serious offenses. Definitely criminal. Though nothing of great value was ever stolen, the last break-in had resulted in physical contact. Jack wondered just how far his attacker would have gone if MacBain hadn’t shown up. As for whatever the hell had run out of that store, he’d swear it had flown off into the night.
And that’s where the first thread appeared, linking pad number two with pad number three, which he had titled MEGAN. Topping Megan’s list was Kenzie Gregor, sublisted by secrets, designs on Megan, hermit boy, right size for attacker, and possible odor link to break-ins.
Next was MacBain: why had he been in town that night?
Camry: how to ditch her long enough to get Megan alone again.
Win over Megan’s family: he was making progress there.
Turn some of Megan’s anger back into some of that mind-blowing passion. Yeah, like that was going to happen anytime soon.
And then there was the thread linking Megan to pad number four, MARK COLLINS. Collins headed some sort of environmental organization that attracted runaways with the promise of an education, possibly brainwashing their altruistic young minds to help him…do what? Then there was the murder, which was tied to Billy Wellington, who was tied to Collins.
But what did any of it have to do with Megan? Had she seen or done something that might have interfered with whatever Collins was doing on the tundra? Could she have something he wanted? Data? Notes? Samples of…whatever?
Jack looked back at the other three pads. There was something else linking everything together. Something he was overlooking. His gaze moved from pad two to pad three, and his mind’s eye saw another thread slowly weaving between them.
Well, hell. Jack grabbed a pen and flipped the page on Megan’s pad, where he added magic to the list, followed by a question mark. Under that he wrote shaman, then wizard…and then he hesitated. Finally he wrote baby, followed by another question mark.
He set down his pen, closed his eyes, and rubbed his face with a tired sigh.
His office door suddenly burst open, and Megan stormed right up to his desk and planted her hands on her hips. Jack casually piled the legal pads on top of each other and folded his hands over them with a smile. “It’s okay, Ethel,” he called. “Beautiful women can disturb me anytime.”
Ethel snorted and closed the door.
Megan’s gaze narrowed. “What did you and my father talk about last night?”
“You, mostly.”
“You told him you’re Wayne.”
“Wasn’t I supposed to? Sweetheart, you’ve got to give me a plan book to follow if you don’t want me making things up as I go along.”