Page 21 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY

Since the night Declan confronted me after running, I’ve dodged any in-person encounters with the family—except for Grace. I haven’t avoided the morning and evening texts I’ve been receiving from Declan though. I respond because he’s assured me he’s using a burner phone.

Declan:

Morning. Everything okay on your end?

Kalie:

Yes.

Declan:

Night. Hope today was successful.

Kalie:

A-OK.

While not overtly personal, each gambit between us grounds me like that perfect sip of coffee first thing in the morning. They let me know I had an ally in the emotional turmoil I was experiencing.

Finally, it’s Friday. The day Grace leaves and Declan and I get to talk in person. As she departs for her trip in a whirlwind of frenzied hugs and fierce kisses, I tease, “Keep away from men who are just out for your body parts, Gracie. You know how sketchy they can be.”

Grace rolls her eyes, scoffing as she grabs a case of silicone eyeballs and noses before jumping in the back of the car to catch a ride to Teterboro, where our uncle’s jet is primed to shoot her across the Atlantic.

Earlier that week, she groused about hijacking the Lockwood Industries jet for herself until I pointed out her hyper-realistic silicone body parts might have Homeland Security suspecting her of a serial killing. “It’s okay to accept help, Gracie.” I chided.

She shot me a baleful glare—then reluctantly accepted our uncle’s offer to whisk her off to Belgium.

Other than mild drama, the days have passed by with no eruption of a storm and a distinct lack of drama.

With Declan’s warning still echoing in my head, I’m hell-bent on wrangling my natural impulse to share information with my family.

So, I feign a cold as a flimsy shield to work from home for the week.

Cough, cough.

Meanwhile, despite juggling all my work—hell, I even made a dent in the backlog—I end the week ahead. I grumble, “So, all I need to do to catch up is fake an illness?”

Or lie to them. With that reminder, guilt surges through my system. “Christ. How the hell does Declan live his life constantly undercover?”

He’s been on my mind every minute I’m not buried in contracts, counter signatures, and conference calls. Truth be told, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve done more than think about him.

Seriously, I’d be terrified about what my internet searches would reveal if it weren’t for that nifty piece of tech my cousin Mike engineered for Hunt Industries and subsequently leases to the DoD he’s had me testing for the last year because as he said, “I know you’ll adhere to the ethics of using it, Kalie.

That Harvard Law degree has to come in handy sometime. ”

The info I uncovered about Declan’s career with the FBI isn’t just shocking, it’s an earth-shattering bombshell. He wasn’t just a special agent—he was a highly decorated one. After staying up all night reading about some of the higher profile cases he worked on, I’m still reeling from it.

It was an understatement to call me distracted when I wished Grace a safe trip to Bulgaria before she reminded me, “Belgium, not Bulgaria. Home of chocolate, beer, and waffles.”

“Right. Belgium.”

“Is your cold getting worse? Do I need to delay my flight? Call Laura?”

“No!” To distract her from my vehemence, I whined. “I just need to rest.”

She cast me a sidelong glance. “If you say so.”

“Bring me home top tier chocolate. I’ll be just fine.”

Still, nothing but a large glass of wine is going to ease my anxiety about how tonight with Declan is going to go.

I gulp a large swallow recalling the news articles I found after Declan left the FBI and his former colleagues accused Declan of succumbing to greed. Of losing his honor. “What utter crap.”

For a moment, I consider if I should let someone know about my impending visitor, before shrewdly guessing, “He’s probably told them he’s coming.”

“I let Jon know when I asked him for your address, yes. Still, next time tell your detail so they don’t walk in and find you dead. Be smarter about what you’re up against.”

Lifting the stemless goblet to my lips, I enjoy the way the wine’s peach flavor shimmers down my throat before turning to find Declan already inside my space.

He’s dressed in all black—jeans, button-down, boots.

Instead of making him look harsh, the lack of color in what he chose to wear makes his natural coloring pop more dramatically.

Even the shoulder holster he sports fails to unsettle me.

He’s not the first man to wear one in my presence.

No, it’s his expression that screams “danger” louder than any words, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched like a coiled spring.

I tilt my head, scrutinizing him. The desperation in his eyes dredges up faint memories of my childhood—ways my father would look at my mother with a vulnerability he couldn’t hide.

Not even from me.

What is this man so afraid of? That fleeting thought burns at the forefront of my mind as I offer. “Drink?”

He jerks his chin up. “I wouldn’t mind some of that.”

Carrying my glass with me, I make my way into the kitchen. He calls out, “Smart move, Kalie.”

“What’s that?” I spin around only to find he’s followed me on silent feet despite the heaviness of his footwear. Instead of being in the family room, he’s positioned at my back. He braces his arms on either side of me before leaning into my back.

For just a moment, I close my eyes and pretend this is any first date—giving myself permission to soak up the scent of pine mixed with his natural masculine scent. My lips part when his head ducks down and his nose nuzzles against the knot of hair I have twisted up against the back of my head.

This has to stop before we both cross a line we’re nowhere ready to step close to.

Spinning in the cage of his arms, I press my hand against his chest and push him back a step. His lips form a pout that’s both seductive and boyish at the same time. I want to grin at it but, “It’s far too soon for this, buddy. Try again.”

Declan’s eyes hold a little less weight in them when he jokes, “I was simply about to compliment you on taking your glass with you.”

“And it was a moral imperative to get this close to me to do it?”

Amusement and admiration flash in the depths of his fathomless brown eyes. “That is simply a perk.”

Shoving him back, I reach for the wine and pour him a glass before topping off my own.

Gesturing for him to retreat back into the family room, I follow him from a safe distance.

What I didn’t expect was that I’d be treated to a delicious view of his rear.

Christ. Now, I get why all the bad boys in movies always had all the girls drooling over them.

Then a sound of amusement escapes me. Not to mention Uncle Phil.

Once we’re both seated, I ask him questions, to set the tone for the evening. “Would it be easier for you if I just ask questions and you can say yes or no?”

His lips twitch. “You think you know what to ask?”

“Only one way to find out.”

He takes a sip of wine and makes a circular gesture. “Go ahead.”

“You were born Declan Sean Conian.”

His brow furrows. “Yes.”

“Raised in the suburbs of Boston, you excelled in languages—graduating high school speaking three. Impressive.”

“How—”

I trample right over him. “Went to BC. Majored in languages and pre-law. Dual bachelors. Approached by an FBI recruiter on campus who recommended you get your pesky law degree even while preparing to go straight into Quantico.”

Oh, to have a camera trained on him to capture the shock on his face when I throw that information at him. He leans forward and sets his glass down carefully. “How did you unearth that information?”

“How am I doing so far?” I flip my hand. “Answering with a question is still an answer in this case.”

“No, Kalie. How did you uncover that information? Did your father tell you?” he demands.

My brow furrows. “No. Of course not. I haven’t spoken with him since that day at Hudson…what the hell are you doing?” I yelp as he towers over me.

“Then tell me how you found out all that when that information is supposed to be erased!” he roars directly in my face like a wounded bear with a knife jammed through its paw.

I hold up both hands in front of me, almost touching his broad chest. “I…used a program my cousin gave me.”

“Which cousin? What program?” he snaps, intensity morphing into outright threat.

My eyes narrow. “What’s it to you? That information is publicly available.”

“It’s not, and if you could find all that out after the tech team at Hudson did their damndest to bury it, there’s going to be hell to pay.

My mother may be gone, but some of her relatives are still alive.

Tanya’s family is still here. Hudson buried my past so her family wouldn’t be in jeopardy from the Tiberis or the Byrnes.

If you could get to it, who knows what other information could be found out about me they can hold over my head? ”

“Shit.” Understanding finally, my hand lands on his heaving chest.

He reaches up to hold my fingers in place.

At first, I thought it was just a surface attraction between us, something I had a chance of beating.

But when he speaks, something shifts inside me.

Something I’ve never come close to experiencing.

“We’re not close like your family, not anymore.

But I don’t want their blood on my hands. ”

“Calm down. Let me call Jon.”

“On speaker,” Declan commands.

“Aye, aye, captain,” I mutter as I connect the call.

It rings once before Jon picks up. Immediately, Jon asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Tell him, Kalie,” Declan orders.

I do so in a way that won’t ignite Declan’s temper but will give Jon the information he needs on an open line. “Mike’s been testing new toys. I found information that might be problematic for someone who enjoys my right hook. Understood?”

There’s a long pause before he says, “Got it. Have a good night.”

Now Declan’s expression has turned baffled. “What just happened?”

“He’ll handle it.”

“By doing what?”

“By calling my cousin.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

I don’t explain Jon will likely badger Mike for the new tech to use at Hudson before it goes to the DoD to make Hunt Industries more money than it could possibly need. “It’s being handled.”

He gives me a look riddled with doubt before he asks, “Now what?”

I cross my arms akimbo. “Now, be honest with me. Can you do that?”