скачать книгу бесплатно
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
Even through the haze of pain, Michael was aware of the charged atmosphere in his San Diego hospital room. The doctors had just delivered their dire predictions for his future with the Navy SEALs. Nurse Judy, normally a fountain of inconsequential, cheery small talk, was fluffing his pillow with total concentration, carefully avoiding his gaze. Clearly everyone was waiting for his explosion of outrage, his cries of despair. Michael refused to give them the satisfaction—not just yet anyway.
“Okay,” he said, gritting his teeth against the hot, burning pain radiating through his leg. “That’s the worst-case scenario. What’s the best I can hope for?”
His doctors—the best orthopedic doctors anywhere, according to his boss—exchanged the kind of look that Michael recognized. He’d seen it most often when an entire op was about to go up in flames. He’d been seeing it a lot since a sniper had blasted one bullet through his knee, then shattered his thigh bone with another. The head injury that had left him in a coma had been minor by comparison. The patchwork repairs to his bones had apparently just begun.
He still wasn’t sure how long he’d been out of touch, left for dead by the terrorist cell he’d penetrated. He did know that had it not been for a desperate, last-ditch effort by his team members, he would have died in that hellhole. He should be grateful to be alive, but if his career was over, how could he be? Though he was determined not to show it, despair was already clawing at him.
“Just tell me, dammit!” he commanded the expressionless doctors.
“That was the best-case scenario,” the older of the two men told him. “Worst case? You could still lose your leg.”
Michael felt a roar of protest building in his chest, but years of containing his emotions kept him silent. Only a muscle working in his jaw gave away the anguish he was feeling.
His entire identity was tied up with being a Navy SEAL. The danger, the adrenaline rush, the skill, the teamwork—all of it gave him a sense of purpose. With it, he was a hero. Without it, he was just an ordinary guy.
And years ago, abandoned by his parents, separated from his brothers, Michael had made a vow that he would never settle for being ordinary. Ordinary kids got left behind. Ordinary men were a dime a dozen. He’d driven himself to excel from his first day of kindergarten right on through SEAL training. Now these doctors were telling him he’d never excel again, at least not physically. He might not even walk...at least not for a long, long time. As for losing his leg, that was not an option.
With that in mind, he leveled a look first at one man, then the other. “Let’s see to it that doesn’t happen, okay? I’m a mean son of a gun when I’m pissed, and that would really piss me off.”
Nurse Judy chuckled, then bit off the reaction. “Sorry.”
Michael shifted slightly, winced at the pain, then winked at her. “It always pays to keep a man who’s itchy to use a knife aware of the consequences.”
She touched a cool hand to his cheek and studied him with concern. Since she was at least fifty, he had a hunch the gesture was nothing more than a subtle check of his temperature. The woman hadn’t kept her hands to herself since he’d been brought in two days ago with a raging fever from the infection that had spread from his leg wounds throughout his body. She’d been with him when he was rushed straight into surgery to try to repair the damage that had occurred halfway across the world. The doctors in the field hospital had done their best, but there had been little doubt that his injuries would require a higher level of medical skill.
He gave the nurse a pale imitation of his usually devastating smile. She was beginning to show signs of exhaustion, but she hadn’t left his side, unless she’d stolen a catnap while he’d been out of it in the operating room. Obviously she’d been hired by his bosses because she took her private-duty nursing assignments seriously. And given his own level of security clearance, hers was probably just as high in case he started muttering classified information in his sleep.
“How about some pain meds?” she asked. “You’ve been turning me down all morning. This stoic act of yours is beginning to get old. You’ll heal faster in the long run if you’re not in agony.”
“I wanted to be alert for the prognosis,” he reminded her.
“And now?”
“I think I’d better stay alert to make sure those two stay the hell away from my leg.”
Just then there was a flurry of activity at the doorway, a hushed conversation, and then two tall, dark-haired men were pushing their way inside, ignoring the doctors’ protests that no visitors were allowed.
“Why not take that medication, bro? We’re here now. Nothing’s going to happen to your leg on our watch,” the older of the two said, pulling a chair up beside the bed and shooting a warning look at the doctors that would have intimidated an entire fleet of the Navy’s finest.
An image floated through Michael’s hazy memory. He looked again and suddenly a name came to him, a name he hadn’t thought of in years. “Ryan?”
“It’s me, kid,” his oldest brother responded, squeezing Michael’s hand. “Sean’s here, too.”
To his total chagrin, Michael blinked back tears. So many years, but there had been a time when he’d shadowed his two older brothers everywhere they went. They had been his heroes, at least until they had deserted him. To a shaken four-year-old that’s how it had seemed on the day he’d been taken away to live with a different foster family—as if the cornerstones of his world had abandoned him. Coming on the heels of his parents’ vanishing with the twins, it had been too much. He’d pushed all thoughts of the other Devaneys from his mind, kept them locked away in a dark place where the memories couldn’t hurt him.
And now, all these years later, his older brothers at least were back, the timely arrival just as mysterious as the untimely disappearance.
“How did you find me?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Where did you come from?”
“We’ll get into all that later. Right now, you need some sleep,” Ryan soothed.
Michael studied him, then sought out Sean. He would have recognized them anywhere, he thought. It was like looking in the mirror: the same black hair—even if his was military crewcut short—the same blue eyes. They’d all inherited Connor Devaney’s roguish good looks, for better or for worse.
Their father had been a handsome devil, one generation removed from Ireland and with a gift for blarney. An image of him crept into Michael’s head from time to time, always accompanied by deeply entrenched bitterness. If there was a God in heaven, Connor Devaney would rot in hell for taking his wife and their youngest sons and walking away from Michael, Sean and Ryan.
“Lieutenant, how about that pain medication now?” Nurse Judy asked gently.
Michael wanted to protest. He had so many questions he wanted to ask his brothers. But one glance at the way Ryan and Sean had settled in reassured him that they weren’t going anywhere. Nor was any surgeon going to get anywhere near his damaged leg as long as they were around.
“Sure,” he said, finally giving in.
Michael felt the prick of a needle in his arm, the slow retreat of pain and then his eyes drifted shut and for the first time since he’d been flown home to California, he felt safe enough to fall into a deep, untroubled sleep.
1
Six months later, Boston
Michael maneuvered his wheelchair across the floor and set the lock. He eyed the sofa and debated whether its comfort was worth the effort it would take to heave himself out of the chair. Every damn day was filled with such inconsequential challenges. After years of trying to sort through the life-and-death logistics of SEAL missions, it grated on him that the simple decision of where to sit to watch another boring afternoon of television took on such importance.
“You want some help?” Ryan asked, his expression neutral.
Over the past few weeks, when his brother had been popping in and out of California on a regular basis, Michael had learned to recognize that look. It meant that Ryan was feeling sorry for him and was trying not to show it.
The attempt was pretty lame, but Ryan was actually better at it than Sean. Sean’s obvious pity was almost more than Michael could take, which was one reason Ryan had been designated to pick him up at the airport and to help him settle into his new apartment.
Michael had discovered that the grown-up Ryan was a low-key kind of guy. He ran his own Irish pub and had settled into family life with a woman named Maggie who seldom took no for an answer. Michael had already had a few encounters with her on the phone and discovered she masked an iron will with sweet talk.
Sean, however, was a recently married firefighter, an active man who would have chafed at the restrictions on his life, just as Michael did. Maybe that was the reason that Sean couldn’t seem to hide his sympathy each time he saw Michael in this damnable wheelchair. They probably needed to talk about it, but neither one of them had gotten up the nerve. Besides, what was there to say?
“I still don’t know how I let you all talk me into moving back to Boston,” Michael grumbled as he waved off Ryan’s offer of help and struggled to move from the wheelchair to the sofa on his own. “There must be a foot of snow out there. In San Diego, I could be basking in the sunshine beside a pool.”
“But you wouldn’t be,” Ryan said wryly. “The way I hear it, you hadn’t set foot outside since you left the hospital.”
Michael scowled. His brother clearly had too much information about his habits. There were only a handful of people who could have given it to him, most of them men Michael could have sworn were totally loyal to him.
“Who ratted me out?” he inquired testily.
Ryan held up his hands. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Your men seem to think you have a particularly nasty temper when crossed.”
At least he could still intimidate somebody, Michael thought with satisfaction. It was a consolation. He certainly hadn’t been able to intimidate Ryan’s wife, Maggie, though.
Maggie was the one who’d called every single, blessed day pestering him to come East. She’d ignored his cranky responses, talked right over his blistering tirades and pretty much won him over with her silky sweet threats. He wondered if Ryan knew what a weapon he had living with him. Michael was convinced that Maggie Devaney could take over a small country if she was of a mind to. Michael could hardly wait to meet her in person, though he’d prefer to be in top-notch form when he did.
“Why didn’t your wife come to the airport with you?” he asked his brother.
“She thought you might like a little time to yourself to get used to things,” Ryan said. “She did send along a list of therapists for you to consider. She said you’d been discussing it, but hadn’t agreed to hire one yet.”
Michael frowned at the understatement. “Actually, what I told her was that I wasn’t interested. I could have sworn I’d made that clear.”
“You’re content to spend the rest of your life in that wheelchair?” Ryan asked mildly.
“The doctors are the ones who consigned me to a wheelchair,” Michael responded bitterly. The shattered bone in his thigh had taken two additional surgeries, and the doctors still weren’t convinced it would ever heal properly. His knee was artificial. He felt like the Bionic Man, only one who’d gotten faulty parts.
Even if everything healed and worked, he’d never have the agility to return to the kind of work he loved. His navy career was definitely over. He’d declined the offer to push papers behind some desk at the Pentagon. Michael shuddered at the very thought—he’d rather eat raw squid. So he was twenty-seven and out of work and out of hope. He’d learn to live with it...eventually.
Ryan leveled an uncompromising look straight at him. “Is that so? You’re blaming this on the doctors? The way I hear it—”
“You apparently hear too damned much,” Michael retorted. “Has it occurred to you that I was doing just fine before you and Sean—and your wives—came busting back into my life? I don’t need you meddling now. If I decide to stay in Boston, I won’t have all of you making me some sort of project.” He leveled a daunting look of his own. “Are we clear on that?”
“No project,” Ryan echoed dutifully.
Michael studied his brother with a narrowed gaze. That had gone a little too easily, he thought just as the doorbell rang. He scowled at Ryan. “You invite somebody else over?”
Ryan looked just the teensiest bit guilty. “It could be Maggie.”
“I thought you said she was giving me some space.”
Ryan shrugged. “Well, that’s the thing with Maggie. She has her own ideas about how much space a man should have.”
“Great. That’s just great.” Michael eyed his wheelchair with frustration. No way in hell could he haul himself back into the thing and get out of the room before Ryan opened the door. As curious as he was to see the woman who’d married his oldest brother, he wasn’t ready for the meeting to take place today. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. He resigned himself to an early introduction to his sister-in-law.
Before he could catch his breath, Maggie burst into the room, her cheeks red, her eyes flashing and her hair like something from a painting of an auburn-haired goddess. No wonder his brother had fallen for her. Michael was half in love himself, but that was before he caught sight of the curly-haired toddler clutching her hand.
“This is Maggie,” Ryan said unnecessarily. “And the pint-size replica is Caitlyn. She’s just learned to walk, and she has only one speed—full throttle.”
The warning came too late. Caitlyn took one look at Michael, broke free of her mother’s grasp and hurtled straight toward him on her chubby, wobbly legs. She was about to grab his injured leg in her powerful little grasp when Michael instinctively bent forward and scooped her up.
Wide green eyes stared at him in shock. He expected immediate tears, but instead a slow smile blossomed on her little face, and he was an instant goner. He’d never realized a kid could steal a person’s heart in less than ten seconds flat.
He sat her on his good leg. “Hiya, Caitlyn. I’m your Uncle Mike.”
She studied him intently, then lifted a hand and patted his cheek.
“She’s not saying too much yet,” Maggie said, “but trust me, she knows how to make herself understood.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Michael said, already thoroughly under little Caitlyn’s spell.
“Think you can handle her for five minutes?” Maggie asked. “I have groceries in the car. I’m afraid I overdid it. I could use Ryan’s help bringing them in.”
“Sure. Miss Caitlyn and I will be fine.” He wasn’t sure how he knew that. It was just that it was the first time in months that someone wasn’t looking at him with pity. His niece’s expression was merely curious. He could deal with friendly curiosity, especially from someone who hadn’t yet learned how to ask complete and probing questions.
But the instant Ryan and Maggie left, Michael had a sudden attack of nerves. He didn’t know a whole lot about kids. He had dim memories of his twin brothers, but he’d been little more than a toddler himself when the family had split up. He’d been the youngest in his foster family. Now both of his foster sisters were married, but so far were childless. A couple of the guys on his SEAL team had children, but Michael had tended to steer clear of the gatherings when they’d been present. He didn’t like the feelings of envy that washed through him when he was surrounded by tight-knit families.
“So, kid, what do you like to do?” he asked the toddler who seemed perfectly content to sit cuddled in his arms. “I’ll bet you have a doll or two at home. Maybe a stuffed bear.”
Caitlyn listened intently, but said nothing.
“Then, again, maybe you’re one of those liberated little girls who has cars and trucks,” Michael continued. “Your mom strikes me as the kind of woman who’d want you to grow up knowing that you have options.”
Apparently he’d said the wrong thing, because Caitlyn suddenly looked around the room and huge tears promptly welled up in her eyes.
“Mama,” she wailed loudly. “Mama!”
She sounded as if her little heart was breaking. Feeling desperate, Michael awkwardly patted her back. “Hey, it’s okay. Your mama is just outside. She and your daddy will be right back.”
That brought on a fresh round of tears. “Da-da-da!”
Michael was at a loss. He was about to panic, when the door swung open and Maggie and Ryan came breezing in. Maggie grinned, set the groceries beside the door and swooped in to pick up the squalling child.
“Hey, baby girl, what’s all that noise?” Maggie chided.
Just like that, the wails trailed off and the tears stopped. “Mama,” Caitlyn said contentedly, patting Maggie’s cheek. Then she turned back to Michael and held out her arms.
Michael couldn’t help chuckling. “Fickle little thing, aren’t you?” he said as he reached for her. “You’re going to grow up and break some man’s heart.”
“She won’t be dating until she’s at least thirty,” Ryan said emphatically.
“Good plan. I can hardly wait to see how well you stick to it,” Michael said. “Especially since this one obviously has a mind of her own already.”
“Don’t laugh. You might be called on to help me chase off the boys,” his brother informed him.
Michael looked at the little angel who was now snuggled against him, half-asleep. “Just say the word,” he said solemnly.
“That reminds me,” Ryan said, taking a slip of paper from his pocket and handing it to Michael.
“What’s this?”
“Maggie’s list of therapists. She reminded me just now to be sure and give it to you.”
Michael’s gaze narrowed. “And the connection to your daughter’s social life would be?”
“If you’re going to help me protect Caitlyn from hormone-driven teenaged boys, you’re going to have to be in top form,” Ryan said. “You might as well pick one and call. If you don’t, Maggie will.”
Michael glanced toward the kitchen where his sister-in-law was busily arranging his groceries and dishes so things would be within reach. He took the list and stuffed it in his pocket without comment.
