Return of the Prodigal Son (3 page)

She turned toward her children. “Put a sleeping bag and some food in a bucket.” She cupped her hands to her mouth. “Donovan, lower the rope you keep up there and we’ll send you some supplies.”

Bren went in search of a sleeping bag. Cameron filled a pillowcase with the things a five-year-old considered necessary for survival. Peanut butter. Cheese. Bologna. A slice of bread and a container of milk, and his favorite stuffed pig, that had been on his bed since he was an infant. He hated parting with it for even one night, but he figured Donovan needed it more tonight. He hoped his older brother would draw some comfort from it.

When everything was ready, Donovan lowered a rope, and Kieran grudgingly tied it to the bucket.

Just as it began to lift slowly off the ground, Micah shouted, “Wait.” He raced out the back door and placed something on top of the pile, then called, “Okay. Take it up.”

In the doorway of the tree house, they could make out the shadow of Donovan as he pulled the bucket inside, then lifted from the top of the pile the heavy pea coat his father had always worn so proudly. As he buried his face in it, he could still smell his father in the folds.

Micah glanced at his mother and saw her eyes, shiny with tears. “I hope you don’t mind, Mom. I thought it might help Donovan.”

There were no words. And so she merely nodded and pressed her cheek to his, surprised that her first-born was already as tall as a man.

As he watched his family return to the warmth of the house, Donovan Lassiter slumped down against the rough bark of the tree house, wishing he could cry. But the grief was too deep for tears. And so he sat throughout the long frigid night, with the scent of his father wrapped around him, his heart so badly shattered he feared it would never heal.

Chapter 2

I
t was dark when Donovan returned to his home in the hills. He liked the darkness. Was comfortable with it. He found he did some of his best work while the rest of the world was sleeping. And though he’d put in a full day, driving down to his mother’s home and back, he wasn’t feeling tired. In fact, the visit with his family had been just the stimulation he needed to spend a few pleasant hours at his computer. He was looking forward to it as he passed the rental house at the bottom of the hill.

The windows glowed with light. Behind the drawn curtains he could see movement.

He hadn’t realized Champion’s sister and family had planned to move in so soon. Still, Champ had said they were coming up as soon as school closed for the summer.

He caught sight of a van parked beside the small shed at the rear of the house. The thought of people living so near had him frowning. He’d begun to enjoy the solitude of these hills. To savor the slower pace. There was no traffic. No horns. No brakes squealing. No peeling of tires. Best of all, no ambulance and police sirens breaking the night silence. Those were sounds guaranteed to wake him from a sound sleep and have him pacing the floor for hours in a cold sweat. There had been too many times that he, or one of his co-workers, had been rushed from the scene of carnage to a safe house if there had been no American hospital nearby.

As he parked and made his way up the steps of his porch, he glanced at the thick file folder lying by the door. Apparently Champ had stopped by after helping his sister move and, finding him gone, had left it on the porch, knowing nobody but Donovan would bother with it. One more reason to bless this backwoods lifestyle he’d recently adopted.

He stared at the documents with a frown, wondering again why he’d agreed to take on somebody else’s problem. He’d told himself, when he left government work behind, that he’d concentrate on his own life for a change.

He thought of his younger brother’s remark about James Bond. Was that how his family and friends saw him? If only it had been so. There had been nothing glamorous about the work he’d done. It had been dirty and dangerous, and there had been dozens of times when he’d thought about tossing in the towel and returning home to a nine-to-five job. But whenever he tried to picture himself with a wife and kids and a comfortable life in the suburbs, he knew he was fooling himself. From the time he’d been very young, there had been a devil inside, forcing him to push the boundaries.

The work he’d chosen had suited him perfectly. Until he’d had his fill. Now it was time to move on and find out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

The rest of his life.

How many times had he wondered if he would be around another day to utter such a phrase?

He let himself into the darkened house and snapped on the lights. After climbing over a row of tumbled boxes, he tossed aside his keys and started a pot of fresh coffee before sitting down at his desk and opening the folder. Within a few minutes, his plan to work on his book was forgotten. The computer remained off as Donovan lost himself in the bizarre details of the investigation of Adam Brady and his apparent slide into criminal behavior.

Though he’d been accused of bilking his clients out of millions, none of the money had been found. Authorities were investigating every angle, from the suggestion that he’d been leading a double life, and had stashed the money with a lover, to the possibility that his current wife knew where the money was hidden and was waiting until the heat was off so she could go about spending it.

The one thing everyone seemed to agree on was that Adam Brady had been guilty as sin. And only his death had saved him from an ugly trial and eventual prison time.

By the time Donovan fell into bed at dawn, he was inclined to agree with the authorities who were convinced of Brady’s guilt. What other explanation could there be for the loss of millions of dollars?

Still, he had promised his old friend he would do his best. If he could find even one tiny flaw in the case, he would pursue it to its logical conclusion. At least then he would have the satisfaction of having done all that was humanly possible before closing the file on this dead man.

It was laughter that woke him. A child’s high-pitched giggles that seemed to come from somewhere nearby.

Donovan pulled the covers over his head and tried to block the sound. It came again, louder and closer, until it seemed to be just outside his window.

He sat up, tossing aside the covers as he climbed out of bed and stalked across the room. He looked out the window, hoping to spot the culprit. When he saw two figures race around the corner of his house, he pulled on a pair of faded jeans and hurried, barefoot, to the door.

“Ohhh, Cory. Don’t touch him. He might bite.” A little girl was standing slightly behind a boy who was crouched down, reaching into the bushes.

There was a rustling sound and the boy jumped back, knocking the girl to the ground. As he turned to help her up, a fat woodchuck waddled deeper into the brush and disappeared from sight.

“He got away.” Annoyed, the boy was about to start after the animal when he caught sight of Donovan and froze.

The little girl ducked behind the boy, peering fearfully around his shoulder. While his hair was dark, the girl’s hair was pale wheat. Both of them had round, solemn faces and wide, honey-colored eyes. Even without an introduction, it was obvious they were brother and sister.

The boy’s chin came up like a prizefighter, anticipating the punch. “We didn’t mean to.”

“Mean to what?” Donovan’s eyes flashed fire. He halted a few steps away when he saw the fear in the little girl’s eyes.

“Set foot on your property. Uncle Champ said we shouldn’t. But Taylor saw the guinea pig and we thought we could catch it.”

“That wasn’t a guinea pig.”

“It wasn’t?”

Donovan shook his head, his anger quickly dissolving into mere annoyance. “It was a woodchuck. And he wouldn’t like being caught.” He glanced at the little girl, still hiding behind the boy’s back. “Your sister was right. He’d probably bite if he felt cornered. Most animals will fight back if they have no other choice.”

Because his hands had automatically closed into fists, he tucked them into his back pockets and decided to start over. “My name’s Donovan. What’s yours?”

The boy paused a beat, as though debating the wisdom of revealing his identity. It occurred to Donovan that even at this young age, the boy had already learned a painful lesson about the pitfalls of bearing a famous, or in his case, infamous name. How many times had he been teased and taunted about his father’s crimes since the media had begun its attack?

“I’m Cory. And this is my sister, Taylor.”

“Hi, Cory. Taylor.” If Donovan couldn’t manage a smile, at least he tried to appear less threatening. “How old are you?”

The little girl ducked her head and stared hard at the ground.

“She’s five. And I’m nine.” Cory pinned Donovan with a look. “You going to tell our mom we were on your property?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

Cory started to relax until Donovan added, “I think she’s just found out for herself.”

The boy kicked at a stone and muttered under his breath as a dark-haired woman came rushing toward them, looking completely flustered. Her cheeks were red, her breathing labored, as though she’d been running at top speed.

“Cory. Taylor. I told you to stay close to the house.”

“We saw a guinea pig, Mom.” The little girl forgot her fear now that her mother was near. “We almost caught it. But it got away. And our neighbor says it isn’t a guinea pig. It’s a woodpecker.”

“Not a woodpecker.” Cory’s frown deepened. “A woodchuck.”

“Oh, yeah.” The girl smiled broadly. “A woodchuck. It would have bited us if we caught it.”

“Bitten.” Her mother automatically corrected her before looking at the man.

When she did, she felt something similar to an electric current sizzle through her. He was naked to the waist, wearing nothing but a pair of faded denims that looked as though they’d seen better days. He seemed not the least bit bothered by his lack of clothing. Dark hair matted his chest and disappeared beneath the unsnapped waistband of his jeans. His shoulders were wide, and corded with muscles. She moved her gaze upward to a face that had her heart beating overtime. It was the most dangerous face she’d ever seen. A strong, chiseled chin darkened with stubble. Steely eyes narrowed against the morning sunlight. A wide forehead, dusted with dark hair that was tousled from sleep. The only thing that softened his look was that poet’s mouth, which at the moment was pursed as he regarded her. Though older, tougher and leaner, this was the same man that had fueled many of her high-school fantasies after a single glimpse.

“I’m really sorry. I warned the children not to come up here and bother you. And my brother warned them, too.”

“No harm done.” Donovan managed a rare, quick smile, which had her heart leaping to her throat. “Champ said we met once, though I’m afraid I don’t remember. I’m Donovan Lassiter.”

“Andrea Brady.” She stuck out her hand. “My friends call me Andi.”

“We call her mama,” little Taylor added.

She certainly didn’t look like anybody’s mother. At least not any Donovan had known. She was tall and slender as a reed, with short, dark hair that curled softly around a strikingly beautiful face. She had wide, honey eyes and high, sculpted cheekbones that a model would die for. She wore absolutely no makeup, yet her skin was as fine as porcelain. Her unpainted lips were wide and perfectly formed. Made for kissing.

The thought jolted him. If he hadn’t been awake before, he was now.

“Nice to meet you, Andi. I see where Taylor and Cory get their eyes.”

Her lashes lowered and she seemed eager to escape this man’s direct stare. “I was unpacking and I thought I’d let my children get acquainted with their new surroundings. I never dreamed they’d come this far.”

She turned to her son. “I expected you to see to your sister.”

“That’s what I was doing.”

At his defiant tone she struggled to soften her own. “Okay. No harm done. Let’s go.” She started to put an arm around her son’s shoulders, but he backed away as though repelled by her touch.

To cover the awkward moment she caught her daughter’s hand. “Come on now. We’ll leave Mr. Lassiter alone.”

“But what about our woodchuck?”

“He isn’t your woodchuck, Taylor. Remember what Mr. Lassiter said. If you manage to catch him, he could bite.” She looked up suddenly. “Could he carry rabies?”

Donovan shrugged. “He’s a wild creature. Anything’s possible.”

“What if we set out a cage?” Cory could see his little sister’s lower lip quivering. Even though he was already tired of the game, he knew that she’d had her heart set on a pet. “We could lure him in with food.”

Andi shook her head. “He isn’t like a guinea pig, that has never lived anywhere but a cage. You heard what our neighbor said. This is a wild creature, Cory. He’s used to being free. He belongs in the woods. Besides, Taylor can’t have pets. Remember her allergies. Now say goodbye to Mr. Lassiter.”

“It’s Donovan.” He was doing his best to be pleasant. Not an easy task on a couple of hours sleep. He was as eager for this to end as she was.

“All right. Say goodbye to Donovan.” Andi was already starting away, her daughter’s hand firmly in hers.

The little girl glanced at Donovan, then, like her mother, lowered her lashes and stared hard at the ground as she struggled to keep up with the impatient strides.

When Andi realized that her son wasn’t following, she turned. “Cory. Come with us.”

“Why?” He held back, hands on his hips.

“You can give me a hand unpacking.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun.” The boy dug his hands in his pockets and trailed behind, calling glumly, “‘Bye, Donovan. Sorry about—” he shrugged “—you know.”

“It’s okay. See you.” Donovan stayed where he was, watching until they rounded the bend in the road.

As a lifetime member of a loud and overbearing family, he considered himself something of an expert on family dynamics. This was a family that was hurting. It was obvious that the little girl was so shy she tried to be invisible. Cory was a wounded, angry rebel, ready to break all the rules he could. Donovan had to smile at that. He’d know a thing or two about being a rebel.