Dangerous

Chapter 1

It was the strange expression in Logan’s eyes that captured Case’s attention.

Case had seen that meditative stare before. Usually just before Logan suggested, invariably in a deceptively mild tone, that some unique opportunity had just arisen. Maybe Case would find it, well, interesting?

Logan’s charcoal-colored eyebrows would lift ever so slightly, indicating just a hint of encouragement. Then he’d hand over something in writing—a letter or a slim report of some sort— and as Case took it from him, Logan would begin to smile. The strange expression that had been in his eyes would transform subtly into the gleam of a man determined to get something done come hell or high water.

Unfortunately, hell and high water usually had starring roles in Logan’s unique opportunities, Case recalled cynically.

Case wondered where in the devil Logan had acquired the dry sense of irony that let him call all manner of outrageous ideas interesting.

Case halted a few feet inside the door to Logan’s spacious office and watched Logan warily.

Logan noticed. He also took note of the mulish look settling on Case’s face.

Don’t look so suspicious! Logan objected, laughing.

Case was not so easily disarmed.

I’ll quit looking like this when I know that I won’t end up in some Third World jail in the pursuit of your latest ‘interesting opportunity,’ Case said bluntly.

We got you out fast enough, Logan retorted, just a little defensively. He still felt bad about that particular mission, and it showed in his face, even now, years later.

Fast? Case exclaimed. You call that fast?

All right, Logan conceded. So maybe a month there wasn’t much of a picnic…

Case made a guttural sound like a howl of outrage being strangled in the depths of his throat. He turned back long enough to grab the heavy walnut door to the office and slam it shut, giving them a little privacy. Outside in the hall, a visiting engineer nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise at the force of it.

Case walked toward the desk, determination in every stride he took.

Logan put up his hand in a gesture of peace and surrender.

Okay, so I underestimated the downside risks a little that time, Logan magnanimously conceded.

A little? Case exclaimed.

But I gave you a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus and stock options in the company when they finally came around last year and agreed to take our offer. All’s well that ends well, right?

Quoting Shakespeare doesn’t impress me, Logan. Remember?

Logan laughed and nodded that he did indeed recall that particular fact about Case.

Well, what else could I have done, Case? Logan challenged. Hell, I even offered to trade places with you. Remember?

Case laughed in genuine amusement. Oh, yeah. He remembered that part, all right. Right down to the sour-smelling saliva of the guard who’d punctuated the message by spitting on him. The guard had paid for that later, of course. But as much as Case had hated that jail, he never would have agreed to let Logan take his place there. In the past fifteen years, he’d come to think of Logan as his savior and as someone he’d lie down and die for. That prison exchange offer had made it very clear to Case that he loved Logan like the brother he’d never had.

That would have been a sight, all right, Case said sarcastically. Logan Reilly, forty years old and born with silver stock certificates in his mouth, giving up his comfortable life-style to live in a human pigsty. Oh, the newspapers would have gone ape over it. And once those so-called businessmen discovered how much you were worth, we’d never have gotten you out of there. Now me, on the other hand…well, everyone knows I’m hired help, a relative from the wrong side of the blanket. Hell, that concept crosses cultures with no problem at all. They knew I had very limited value. That’s why they did such a lousy job of keeping an eye on the jail. And why it was easy to bribe someone to slide the key into the cell one morning.

The two men looked into each other’s eyes and felt the strength of the bond that had been forged in that particularly tense and dangerous incident. It was a blood bond. Case straightened up and relaxed. Then he grinned, breaking the tension for both of them for a moment.

Hell, Logan, Case drawled. I considered that little fiasco a form of paying my dues. As the resident black sheep of the Reilly family, my mother being a Reilly and me being the son of disrepute, I always knew I’d have to earn respect around here any way I could. Besides, you wouldn’t have lasted a day there, he added teasingly. You’re used to a finer sense of hospitality and table manners than they practice.

Logan looked genuinely riled.

You’re my dead sister’s son, Logan reminded him in a soft but steel-edged voice. That means we’re blood relatives. You aren’t so very different from me. And I’m not so very different from you, Case. Don’t let the clothes fool you. I’ve been in my share of tough spots. We just never got around to talking about any of them.

Case was surprised. He thought he knew Logan pretty well. Obviously, there were things about Logan that he didn’t know. He wondered what they were. And if Logan would someday tell him.

Logan didn’t bother to fill him in at the moment. He was busy defending himself and was not about to get sidetracked.

Forget that garbage about earning respect and having to prove yourself and paying some damn dues. Who the hell gave you that idea, anyway? I thought we got past that kind of stuff ten years ago, after you’d been on your own and doing fine.

Maybe.

Or maybe you just won’t let yourself feel like you’ve been accepted?

Case shrugged. Logan was right on the money with that comment, he thought. Case never permitted himself to believe that his place in the Reilly conglomerate was completely settled. He knew that sense of insecurity came from the crazy way he’d grown up, with all the rootlessness and his father’s temper and drinking problems. But he couldn’t totally shake the thought that security might be snatched away from him at any time. So he never completely counted on anything. Or anyone.

There’d been only two other people he ever got close to putting all his faith and trust in. One was an old man named Luther. The other had been a young girl named Clare. But that had been years ago. Fifteen, to be exact. And he’d gotten out of both their lives, Clare’s especially. He’d done it as a favor to them. He’d written to Luther at Christmastime every year. He owed the man that much. Sometimes Luther mentioned Clare. But Case had always been careful not to encourage any news sharing. He didn’t want Luther carrying tales back to Clare. He’d made that very clear to Luther, too.

Case?

Case snapped back to the present. Logan was looking at him with a little touch of impatience.

So feel accepted here, damn it, Logan exclaimed. He was both exasperated and amused. "Look, we’re closer in age than any other uncle and nephew I ever met. Mairi was eighteen when she ran off with Seamus and conceived your sorry self. Mairi was my older sister, as you well know. I’m only eight or nine years older than you. That makes me closer to a brother to you than an uncle, right?"

What’s your point, Logan? Case asked, raising an eyebrow and standing his ground.

I can put myself on the line for you just like you can put yourself on the line for me.

The silence that followed that sentence underscored the seriousness of Logan’s words. Case exhaled.

All right. But if I had let them trade us, your bank account would have been the death of you and you know it, Logan.

Logan frowned. He obviously agreed and was pained by that fact.

Face it, Logan, that soft bed you grew up in wouldn’t have prepared you for the, uh, rustic accommodations they were offering. You’re a silk purse, Logan. You’d have been worn to shreds in that prison. Silk gets hard use in rough hands. That kind of job is better given to a sow’s ear like me.

Logan laughed and shook his head.

Have it your own way, Case, he said, basically tiring of arguing the point. He had other things on his mind today and they needed to be dealt with quickly. You win. You get all the poor accommodation jobs in the future. I’ll take all the silk sheet assignments. Will that make you happy? Will that make you feel like you’re earning your keep around here?

I hate winning arguments with you, Logan, Case groused wryly. Logan rarely allowed himself to be outmaneuvered, and Case had the distinct impression he’d lost yet another skirmish with the sly fox. Just try to get hotels without fleas, okay?

Case, Case, Logan lamented. Here I am, grooming you to be my successor someday, training you in the fine art of being the leader of the pack, and all I get are whining complaints about a few bedbugs.

Yeah, well, I’m getting soft in my old age, I guess.

I’m the first to concede that not every idea that I have works out exactly as I’d hoped it would. Logan shrugged his broad shoulders and the fine material of his suit rustled softly against his custom-tailored shirt.

Nice of you to admit that, Case said dryly. He flexed a muscle, recalling the scar across his shoulder he’d bear for the rest of his life because of one of those interesting possibilities that hadn’t quite gone as planned.

Logan cleared his throat and tugged at the knot of his tie. He slid his fingertips down the cinnamon-and-red silk fabric absentmindedly, looking a little uncertain of how he wanted to proceed.

Case frowned. That wasn’t like Logan. Logan was never unsure of himself. Wrong. But not uncertain.

What’s going on, Logan? Why’d you leave word for me to stop in your office first thing this morning?

I have something for you.

Case noticed that Logan’s eyebrows hadn’t arched upward as they usually did at this point in the conversation if he had some wild scheme in mind and was about to convince Case that it was the best thing since baseball. Maybe this had nothing to do with Logan’s wild ideas and empire-building plans.

Logan swiveled his chair and leaned over to open a file drawer behind his desk. He removed a letter from it and turned back toward Case.

Here. This is why I wanted you to see me this morning. It came in the mail last week.

Case took the letter. It was addressed to Case in care of Logan here at the office.

Only certain important items of mail were handled like that. They were the matters that couldn’t wait while Case was out of town, or out of the country. Things that Case trusted Logan to screen for him. Personal matters, mostly. One matter, especially.

And this letter dealt with that one, touchy matter: Case’s father, Seamus Malloy, imprisoned for murder for the past fifteen long years.

The letter came from a prison in Ohio. It had been written by the prison physician at the request of Case’s father.

Case looked at Logan, silently asking what kind of news was contained in the letter he was holding in his hand. How bad was it going to be?

I read it already, Logan said. Probably while you were catching a puddle jumper on your way from Moscow to Shanghai, Logan explained. I was afraid it might be a problem that couldn’t wait, but, as it turned out, they’d already taken care of the problem there at the prison. At least, as much as they could. Logan’s voice trailed off and he seemed at a loss for words.

Case frowned. What the hell did that mean?

Your old man’s all right, for the moment, anyway, Logan reassured him seriously. But…well, read it for yourself. You’ll see. Logan sighed. I didn’t have a chance to talk to you until this morning, and I thought it would be easier for you to hear about this once you were back here in Chicago. There wasn’t anything you could do while you were out of the country.

Logan rose from his chair and paced across the room. The thick carpeting absorbed the sounds of his expensive leather shoes, making his passing soundless. He stopped in front of the huge window overlooking Lake Michigan and stoically stared out across its windswept blue surface.

Case quickly scanned the letter, wondering what could have happened.

Then he read it again. Slowly. Incredulously.

Case swore softly and stared blindly into space.

He’s not got long to live. And they’re letting him out of prison early with credit for good behavior and in light of his deteriorating health. Case’s voice sounded hollow to his own ears. He felt hollow. And powerless. And angry. Always angry, where his father was concerned.

Logan turned around and watched Case carefully.

I’m sorry, Case, he said quietly. If there’s anything I can do—doctors… second opinions…

Yeah. Thanks. Case sat down hard on the arm of the plush chair facing Logan’s aircraft carrier of a desk. He’d always known this would happen someday, but the reality of it was still a shock.

He obviously doesn’t want to come here to live the last of his life, Case noted in a voice devoid of feeling. He didn’t know what he felt. Didn’t really want to feel anything, if he could avoid it. He shouldn’t be surprised that his old man hadn’t wanted to see him, would rather die in a shelter with strangers than come to his son in his final days. Not that Case had ever encouraged him to think he’d welcome that.

Logan lifted a shoulder and cocked his head to one side.

Well, it’s understandable that he doesn’t want to run up here to Illinois, he said cautiously. We Reillys treated him about as badly as it’s possible to treat a man when he fell in love with your mother and married her against the family’s wishes.

Hell, that was over thirty years ago. Case snorted. And the man has no other place to go!

He thinks otherwise, apparently, Logan observed.

Crawfordsville? He’s going back to Crawfordsville? Case exclaimed, his voice rising in heat and disbelief. He hit the letter with the back of his left hand. What in hell is he thinking of, Logan? He was convicted of murder there fifteen years ago. Does he think those people want him around? Is fifteen years long enough for them to forget? I don’t understand his thinking at all. He could come here and be lost in Chicago. No one would pay any attention to him. I could see to it he got into some kind of home. But no, he goes back to Crawfordsville while they try to get him some public money to live on. Disability payments or something. Well, hell. He’s disabled, all right. He pickled his heart and liver in alcohol twenty years ago. It’s a miracle they’re still functioning.

Logan didn’t say anything. He listened, grim faced.

Case sensed that Logan was withholding criticism. He glared at him.

I’ve gone to that damn prison every Christmas for the past fifteen years to see my old man. He knows he could come here and I’d at least see to it that he had a roof over his worthless head.

Logan’s eyebrows rose. I’m sure he appreciates the thought.

Case’s cheeks reddened with anger. Yeah, well, why should he feel any enthusiasm for caring for the old drunk after all he’d done to make Case’s life a walk through misery?

What do you want from me, Logan? You want me to love that old man? Want me to forget how he was convicted of murdering a young girl fifteen years ago? A high school girl that I’d gone steady with, for pity’s sake? Case’s jaw hardened. When he unclenched his teeth, he added, I’ve done ray duty to him. I’ve gone back every year. I’ve asked him if he needed anything. I’ve answered his questions about my life. But don’t ask me to understand how a man could get so blind drunk that he could murder a girl and not remember it. Don’t ask me to love a man who ruined my life with his drunkenness and his shiftlessness… Case’s voice cracked and he stopped talking. He lowered his head. The room seemed silvery bright for a moment. It was the light filtering through the tears that had unaccountably filled his eyes.

Logan quietly crossed the room and laid a comforting hand on Case’s shoulder.

We can’t choose who our family are. And, sometimes, we can’t choose who we love.

Case swallowed hard. He was tired. And suddenly he felt older than he’d felt in years.

Why don’t you take a couple weeks off and go down there. He’s staying with… Logan looked over Case’s shoulder and read the line in the letter again to refresh his memory. Luther Fitch—isn’t that the old guy you two lived with when you first went to Crawfordsville seventeen years ago?

Yeah. He’s a strange old bird, but one of the few people on this earth you can trust with everything you have.

Logan nodded. In his book, Case was like that. He hoped someday Case realized it. He patted Case’s shoulder and walked around to sit down at his desk again.

Look, take today to see what loose ends there are from that Moscow business. Leave a list of things for me to finish up for you on that score. Then go to Ohio and see your old man. Take ’ as much time as you need. Logan looked at his pen and remembered the times in his own past when the chance to say goodbye to someone he loved had been lost. It’s important. These chances only come around once, Case.

Case looked at Logan and saw the grim expression in the man’s face. Logan had his own ghosts to wrestle.

Yeah. I guess you’re right, Case agreed with a long, deep sigh. He stood and headed toward the door.

I’ll get back to you this afternoon, Logan.

Fine. And, Case?

Yeah?

Welcome home. Logan smiled at him.

Case nodded and swallowed the cold, hard lump in his throat. Home. He always wondered what it would have been like to have one of those. He’d almost known back in Crawfordsville. Before Lexie Clayton’s murder had ended everything in the most brutal, scandal-laden way possible. Logan was all the family that Case had, really. This place was as close to home as he was ever likely to get, he figured. That was more than some folks got in life.

Grimly, he left Logan’s office and headed toward his own.

If he was lucky, he could fly down to Cincinnati, rent a car and drive over to Crawfordsville by tomorrow night.

I hope you still have a spare corner for me somewhere in that firetrap you call a house, Luther, Case muttered. Compared to some of the places he’d slept, that would be high-class accommodations.

Case grinned, a little bitterly.

He wondered what Clare Browne looked like, now that she was all grown up. He decided he’d probably never recognize her. Well, he wouldn’t be there long enough to find out, anyway. Best he didn’t drop by her house. Maybe she didn’t even live there anymore.

No. He wouldn’t have time to succumb to that temptation.

If he was lucky.

Seamus? Seamus, are you ready to go?

Seamus Malloy sat on his neatly made bed in the corner of the cell that had been his home for fifteen long, barren years. He heard the chaplain calling his name, but did not reply.

The cell door was open. A guard stood next to it, waiting to escort Seamus out of the prison. Chaplain Everhard Douderbeck stepped into the cell. The smile that wreathed his face quickly faded into a look of anxious concern. He laid a hand on Seamus’s frail shoulder and bent low to speak quietly, so only Seamus could hear.

What’s the matter, Seamus? Are you afraid to leave, after all these years of being here?

Seamus stared blindly into space. He shook his head, but did not reply.

C’mon, Malloy, the guard said with a touch of exasperation. I got other things to do besides stand here waiting for you to up and leave. Hey, if you don’t want to go, I know a few hundred other guys in here who’ll be happy to leave for you.

Shh, the chaplain said, frowning severely at the guard. He’ll leave. It’s not easy. This has been Seamus’s home, after all. As much a home as he’s had, anyway. Isn’t that right, Seamus?

Seamus blinked and tried to focus his eyes so he could make out the chaplain’s face. It was hovering pretty close, though, and it seemed awful blurry. Seamus cursed his failing eyesight, but not too energetically. He hadn’t had the energy for much of anything for most of the past year. Well, maybe that was a good thing. When he was younger and had lots of energy, he’d put it to bad use, Lord knew.

Seamus cleared his throat and got unsteadily to his feet. He reached down and picked up his small suitcase. It had been purchased with the money he’d made last year working in the prison library. His toothbrush, underwear, a rosary and his diary and pencil were in it. It didn’t weigh much at all, so he was a little surprised when Chaplain Douderbeck insisted on carrying it for him.

I just wish you’d found the wheelchair, the chaplain said, clucking and shaking his head in discontent as the three of them walked down the long, barren hall. Rows of cells, most with men in them, were the only decor.

I looked for it, but I can’t be responsible for everything in this place. B’sides, I thought the doc told him walking was good for him, the guard said defensively.

It’s a long way from Seamus’s cell to the car that’s waiting for him out in front of the building, the chaplain said diplomatically. I’d just hoped to make it an easy trip for him.

Seamus’s weathered face creased into something reminiscent of a leprechaun’s smile.

It’s easy enough, Chaplain. Don’t fret. I’ll not drop dead at your feet, man. He reached out and squeezed the chaplain’s arm with his bony hand. The Lord didn’t bring me this close to have me fall down on me face in this hellhole.

The guard snorted and gave Seamus a look of mild contempt.

Well, now you’ve got yer tongue back, y’sound like your peppery old self, old man.

Seamus nodded, eyes gleaming as he took the measure of the guard.

Ay. Freedom does that to a man.

Well, maybe this time you’ll treat that freedom with a little more care, the guard said, puffing up his chest and getting rather self-righteous.

The chaplain frowned.

Seamus looked ahead down the hall toward the door that would lead into the discharge area. A faraway look came into his watery old eyes.

I always did treasure freedom, Seamus murmured. It’s the greatest gift we have, next to life itself.

The guard looked Seamus up and down, saw a prisoner convicted of murder and snorted his, opinion of Seamus’s highminded comment.

"Well, good