Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Americans,” McQueen growled. “And mercenaries. Every last one of them.”

Chance nodded. After sleeping the rest of the previous day away, he’d awakened early this morning with Suede’s lush body tucked in next to his. Nothing beat the warmth that flooded his soul at the feel of her against his belly and thighs. After smoothing a hand down her shoulder and arm to her hip and getting no response, he’d eased out of bed and let her sleep.

The rest had done him good. His back hadn’t been hurt nearly as bad as he’d expected. One eye was black and a couple teeth were loose, but he was as good as ever. Waking up to the aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls hadn’t hurt, but those cookies she’d left in containers on the counter? Best damned things ever with a good cup of coffee. She must’ve baked all night long.

Dressed in casual wear, jeans, and a crisp white polo, he now held a cup of black coffee in one hand and Suede’s hand in the other. She hadn’t slept as long as he would’ve liked, but she’d wanted to be included in this discussion, so here she was. Right beside him where she belonged. She’d chosen a light pink knit sweater that hugged her ample curves, black jeans, and leather boots, the short kind that met the hem of her jeans. McQueen’s wife had done well shopping, but Chance couldn’t wait for the day that he took Suede out to get her own things. A man needed to do that for his woman. Buy things for her. Spoil her. Dress her up. Undress her.

Everyone sat around the fireplace in the front room, brainstorming with Senator Sullivan about the army that had attacked the cabin and where the mission needed to go from here. Gallo lay asleep on his rug in front of the fire, no doubt drugged with the pain meds Pagan gave him.

McQueen had changed his hunter’s wear for ordinary Rider jeans, cowboy boots, and a light blue sweatshirt with Dallas Cowboys stamped across his chest. Pagan and Kruze wore jeans, but Pagan had topped his off with a white T, while Kruze wore a white tailored, button-up shirt and enough men’s cologne to fog the entire cabin. The boy always did like that crap.

The latest FBI word out of Portland was that Viktor Patrone was in town with a five-man entourage of muscle. Patrone didn’t merit diplomatic immunity, so the moment he’d landed, the FBI had climbed all over him. Homeland Security too. They made no bones about inspecting his single piece of carryon luggage, as well as his person. Of course they’d found no guns, not on him or his men. Those items were easy to get on the streets.

“Yes, Americans, but those were not Patrone’s men,” Chance repeated. What had started as a simple one-man show now threatened the status quo of the entire state of Oregon, possibly the nation. It had to be stopped.

“Then whose were they?” McQueen bit out.

“Had to be Tennyson’s. He’s the only gringo in this mess, and trust me, Patrone would’ve used his own guys. I’m telling you, it’s time we strike back before he does.”

Kruze grunted. “And that means what?”

Chance lifted Suede’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of her fingers. “It means Suede and I need to leave our mark in Portland.”

“We do?” she asked.

“Absolutely. I’ve given this a lot of thought. You facing your father will take this debacle out of Montana and put it in Governor Tennyson’s front yard where it belongs. Let him clean up his own mess.”

Pagan leaned forward, his elbow to his knees and his fingers steepled under his chin. “I get it. That press conference you wanted to hold. The big reveal, right? Let the world know she’s still alive?”

“Exactly.” Chance angled sideways to face the nervous woman at his side who would soon be center stage, if she agreed. “Look him in the eye the same way you did York. What do you think?”

Suede blinked, then brushed her free hand over her chin, cupping it before it dropped to her throat and back to her chin again. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. Her hips twitched against his, and she was nervous. He got that, so he waited. The whole room did. This was her decision, and it was a tough one, especially with her mother’s funeral just days away.

He’d asked her earlier if she’d wanted to attend, but she’d said no. “Let her have her day.” She and her mother hadn’t been close when Vera was alive. To attend the funeral would only prolong media speculation and incite the gossip rags.

At last, she pinched her lips and swallowed hard. “But those guys are all killers.”

“I hate to tell you, lady,” Kruze drawled, “but so are we.”

“I know that, but you’re different.” The trepidation radiating up Suede’s arm to her fluttering fingertips worried Chance. He knew she loved him, but she’d seen him accidentally kill the unarmed man she’d let live. That alone could be a game-changer.

“The difference between them and us is we’re on the right side of the law,” McQueen bit out, then qualified, “at least the moral side of the law.”

She cocked her head at him. “Is there a moral side to killing?”

“I’d like to think so,” Chance said evenly. “The law can’t reach some of the biggest, baddest bastards on the planet. We can. I’m totally good with whichever answer you give, but Pagan’s right. We can’t hide out here forever. The bad guys already know you’re here, and they’ll be back. Do you dare take a chance on us Sinclairs to help fix what’s broken before it kills more innocent people?”

“When you put it like that…” She stared at Pagan, her lips pinched tight and the slightest tremble to her head. This had to be the greatest leap of faith of a lifetime for her, yet she of all people knew how wicked the world was. If she wasn’t willing to share this side of Chance and his brothers, all bets were off. He’d have to break ties with her—somehow. The sooner, the better. The notion pained him, but the thought of her living another unhappy life hurt worse.

Chance pressed her knuckle to his lips for what might be the last time. If anyone needed a safe place to land, it was Suede Tennyson, and God, he loved her more everyday. He had yet to say the words to her, but he knew it to his core. Unfortunately, love didn’t solve all the world’s problems. That was just the way it was.

“Would I have to talk to him?” she asked.

“To the Governor? No, ma’am,” he answered. “You don’t even have to see him. This face-to-face will be pre-recorded from here, right where you’re sitting in fact. You don’t even have to dress up. All you have to do is look directly into the camera and tell the world what happened.”

A breath of relief poured out of her until she gulped and said, “But no one will believe me. Not after all the things I’ve done.”

McQueen took that challenge. “Let the truth speak for itself, Suede. Yes, there’ll be a media-frenzy, but that’s what the press does best. They’re no better than jackals nipping at the king of the jungle until they draw blood. Let me deal with them.”

“But York was the Lion, not me.”

“In name only,” Kruze growled. “He was more of a vulture than king of the jungle. Get that through your head right now. He shoved you over a cliff, for hell’s sake. What kind of a man does that?”

Suede turned on Kruze, her chin lowered. “That’s true, but I’m not him, am I?”

Chance could’ve kissed her. The longer she stayed with him, the more he detected a lady of class and nobility behind that timid veneer. He was proud of how she’d just put Kruze in his place without resorting to theatrics or threats, and she hadn’t dropped an f-bomb in—he had to think—days.

“No, you’re more like a robin, Suede,” Pagan murmured from across the room where he sat, the reverent tone in his voice capturing everyone’s attention.

Suede’s head came up, and there was a connection between her and his brother that Chance hadn’t seen coming. He cocked his head as a different side of the spoiled brat, baby brother he’d grown up with emerged like a butterfly unfolding out of its dusty cocoon. This Pagan was—sensitive. He didn’t look away from Suede, and she didn’t break eye contact with him. It was as if they were the only two in the room. What the hell?

“You’re not as big or as fierce as the eagles, owls, and hawks of the world, Suede, and for sure, you’re no lion. Thank God for that. Not everyone needs to be a bird of prey,” Pagan told her, his voice uncommonly gentle. “But that doesn’t make you any less important in the scheme of things. It just means you see the world in a different light. You have a better purpose than I do. You get to deal with life, not death.”

He ran a quick hand over his scalp from front to back, ruffling his deep black hair. It ended in messy spikes. “You don’t have to live in the shadows like I do. Trust me, the world needs more songbirds, and you’re the robin who’d rather sing in the sunshine and build a nice safe nest for her family than hunt the scum of the world. It’s true. You’ve been fed a pack of lies all your life, but those days are done, and that person you thought you were, never really existed. She was a lie, but I see the real you now. I think you do, too.”

Quiet Pagan certainly had a lot to say on this subject, but Suede had leaned forward as if hanging on his words. This was precisely what she’d needed to hear.

“You’re everything your parents could never be, because you’re made of better stuff,” Pagan continued. “I’m sorry for what you’ve been through, and I know you’re scared, but even a mother robin will fight to defend her nest, little sister.”

“Oh,” squeaked out of Suede, and Chance had to give Pagan credit. Whether he knew it or not, he’d just given her the very thing she craved most, something Chance never could’ve given her. Her first sibling.

“Robins can be fierce, too,” she told Pagan in a whisper.

“I know you can be fierce,” he said with an encouraging nod. “You’re brave. The whole world knows you’re unstoppable. Hell, you’re also the first person to ground me in years, and no, Chance doesn’t count.”

“Hey, wise guy,” Chance shot back good-naturedly. “I do too count.”

“No, you don’t. Not in my book. ” Kruze deadpanned, shaking his head for drama. “He mean something to you, Baby Brother?”

Pagan’s face wrinkled as he aimed a wink at Suede. “He does know how to cook.”

“So does Betty Crock—” Kruze caught a pillow in the face for that one. But when Suede snuggled back into Chance with her head against his bicep, the battle was over.

McQueen shot Chance a sharp look from across the room. “Goddamn, she’s a keeper.”

Wasn’t that the truth?

Suede cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Senator, but you’ve got to stop swearing. Scarlett Sinclair wouldn’t approve.”

Chance nearly choked at that prim reminder after some of the words she’d spit out when she’d first arrived, but McQueen took it well. “You know, I just might do that for you, ma’am. I’m damned, er, I mean…” He touched his index finger to his forehead in a quick salute, his soft blue eyes brimming with respect. “I’m mighty proud to know you.”

Chance pressed a kiss to the top of her head and whispered from the bottom of his heart, “Welcome home, Suede.”