LITMIR.BIZ

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was all on her.

      “Shh,” Brendan said again.

      And she managed to control her sobs. But she heard their echo—coming softly from behind the metal pipes.

      “CJ?” He wasn’t gone. But why hadn’t he come out? “Are you hurt?”

      Perhaps there were more dangers behind the pipes than just that short wall separating him from a big fall. Maybe the pipes were hot. Or sharp.

      “Listen,” Brendan advised again.

      The sobs were soft but strong and steady, not broken with pain, not weak with sickness. He was scared. Her little boy was too scared to come out, even for his mother.

      “Tell him I’m not going to hurt him,” Brendan said, his voice low but gruff. “Or you.”

      She nearly snorted in derision of his claim. When he’d realized she had been working on a story about his father’s murder, he’d been furious with her. Too furious to let her explain that even though the story was why she’d sought him out, she had really fallen in love with him.

      Despite his difficult life, losing his mother, running away at fifteen, he’d seemed such a charming, loving man that she’d thought he might have fallen for her, too. But then his anger had showed another side of his personality, one dangerously similar to his merciless and vengeful father.

      As if he’d heard the snort she’d suppressed, he insisted, “I’m not going to hurt either of you.”

      “Did you hear him, CJ?” she asked. “You don’t have to be afraid.” Then she drew in another breath to brace herself to lie to her son. “Mr. O’Hannigan is not a bad man.”

      She had actually been foolish enough to believe that once, to think that he was not necessarily his father’s son. She’d thought that given all the years he’d spent away from the old man, he might have grown up differently. Honorably. That was why she’d fallen for him.

      But when he’d learned she had actually been working on a story.

      He hadn’t been her charming lover. He had been cold and furious. But he hadn’t been only furious. If he’d cut her brake line, he’d been vengeful, too. But she hadn’t really meant anything to him then; she had been only a lover who’d betrayed him. Now he knew she was the mother of his child.

      “He saved us from the bad men, CJ. The bad men are gone now.” She turned back toward Brendan. He was just a dark shadow to her, but she discerned that his head jerked in a sharp nod.

      She pushed her hand between the pipes, but no pudgy fingers caught hers. “CJ, you can come out now. It’s safe.”

      She wasn’t sure about that, but her son would be safer with her than standing just a short wall away from a long fall.

      “It is safe.” Brendan spoke now, his voice a low growl for her ears only. “But it may not stay that way. We need to get out of here before more bad men show up.”

      She shivered, either over his warning or his warm breath blowing in her ear and along her neck. Memories rushed back, of his breath on her neck before his lips touched her skin, skimming down her throat. His tongue flicking over her pulse before his mouth moved farther down her body.

      Her pulse pounded faster, and she trembled. Then she forced the memories back, relegating them to where they belonged as she’d done so many times before. If she hadn’t been able to keep the past in the past, she wouldn’t have survived the past four years.

      “CJ, why won’t you come out?” she asked.

      The boy sniffed hard, sucking up his tears and his snot. Josie flinched but resisted the urge to admonish him and was grateful she had done so when he finally spoke. “Cuz I—I was bad.”

      “No,” Josie began, but another, deeper voice overwhelmed hers.

      “No, son,” Brendan said.

      Josie gasped at his brazenness in addressing her child as his. Technically, biologically, it was true. But CJ didn’t know that. And she never wanted him to learn the truth of his parentage. She never wanted him to know that he was one of those O’Hannigans.

      “You weren’t bad,” Brendan continued. “You were very brave to protect your mother. You’re a very good kid.”

      The boy sniffled again and released a shuddery breath.

      “Now you have to be brave again,” Brendan said. “And come out. There might be more bad men and we have to leave before they can be mean to your mother.”

      “You—you were mean to Mommy,” CJ said. Her son was too smart to be as easily fooled by Brendan’s charm as she had been. And as if compelled to protect her again, the little boy wriggled out from behind the pipes. But instead of confronting Brendan as he had inside the hospital, he ducked behind Josie’s legs.

      Brendan dropped to his haunches as if trying to meet the child’s eyes even though it was so dark. “I shouldn’t have been mean to her,” he said. “And I’m sorry that I was. I thought she was someone else.” His soft tone hardened. “Someone who lied to me, tricked me and then stole from me.”

      Josie shuddered at his implacable tone. He had saved her from the gunmen, but he hadn’t forgotten her betrayal. Over the years it had apparently even been exaggerated in his mind, because she had never stolen anything from him. Judging by the anger he barely controlled, it seemed as if he would never forgive her.

      “I don’t like it when people lie to me,” Brendan said. “But I would never hurt anyone.”

      “Who’s lying now?” she murmured.

      “Unless I had to in order to protect someone else,” he clarified. “I will protect you and your mommy.”

      “I will p-tect Mommy,” CJ said, obviously unwilling to share her with anyone else. But then, he’d never had to before. He had been the most important person—the only person, really—in her life since the day he was born.

      Josie turned and lifted him in her arms. And she finally understood why he’d been so reluctant to come out of his hiding place. He was embarrassed, because his jeans were wet. Her little boy, who’d never had an accident since being potty-trained almost a year ago, had been so scared that he’d had one now. She clutched him close and whispered in his ear. “It’s okay.”

      Brendan must have taken her words as acceptance. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. Despite the warmth of his body, she shivered in reaction to his closeness. Then he ushered her and CJ toward the elevator. He must have jammed the doors open, because it waited for them, light spilling from it onto the rooftop.

      As she noticed that the armed men were gone, fear clutched at her. Brendan must not have injured them badly enough to stop them. They could be lurking in the shadows, ready to fire again. She covered CJ’s face with her hand and leaned into Brendan, grateful for his size and his strength.

      But then as they crossed the roof to the open doors, she noticed blood spattered across the asphalt and then smeared in two thick trails. Brendan had dragged away the bodies. Maybe he’d done it to spare their son from seeing death. Or maybe he’d done it to hide the evidence of the crime.

      It hadn’t actually been a crime though. It had been self-defense. And to protect her and their son. If she believed him.

      But could she believe him? No matter what his motives were this time, the man was a killer. She didn’t need to see the actual bodies to know that the men were dead. Her instincts were telling her that she shouldn’t trust him. And she damn well shouldn’t trust him with their son.

      BRENDAN HELD HIS son. For the first time. But instead of a fragile infant, the boy was wriggly and surprisingly strong as he struggled in his grasp. He had taken him from Josie’s arms, knowing that was the only way to keep her from running. She cared more about their son’s safety than her own.

      Maybe

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