Never Say Never Again Page 18

  Bronte’s smile was telling. “I guess we’ll find out soon. There’s a team on its way to his place now. And a search warrant is also being served on his office as we speak.” The smile disappeared. “Patrolmen…arrest this man.”

  The half-dozen state patrolmen looked at each other, then shrugged, stepping forward to do as ordered. But Dennis darted.

  He didn’t get two feet before Connor’s hand grabbed the back collar of his navy-blue suit jacket. There were some advantages to having raised four bullheaded brothers. “Uh-uh,” he said, yanking back the man who would have had Connor punished for his crime. “The only place you’re going is to jail, Burns.”

  The patrolmen finished the arrest and steered Dennis Burns from the room.

  Connor glanced at Bronte. Something warm and increasingly familiar spread through his chest. After what he’d said to her, what he’d done, how deeply he had hurt her—no matter his intentions—she had still come through for him. He couldn’t begin to thank her for everything she’d done. So he didn’t. The words got caught somewhere between his throat and his mouth.

  Kelli saved him from having to say anything. She stepped to her friend and hugged her tightly. “God, I knew you were incredible, but this is awesome,” she said quietly, then laughed at Bronte’s startled expression. “What? Don’t go getting modest on me now.”

  Connor looked away. Of course, Kelli had no idea what had happened between him and Bronte over the past few days. How could she? He still wasn’t entirely sure what had happened.

  There was one person who had a clue, however.

  He turned to find Pops watching him from the kitchen doorway, a questioning expression on his face. Connor grimaced. Why was it that the last person he could talk to about this was the only one who had a clue about him and Bronte? Oh, his brothers might suspect something after their conversations with her yesterday, but Pops had been the one who’d seen her at his grandparents’ old place last night. And it didn’t take a badge to figure out that she hadn’t been there strictly for the case.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he stepped away from the group. He felt Bronte’s gaze on him, but was helpless to return it. What could he possibly say? Sorry about earlier. I really didn’t mean it. I was just protecting that cute little butt of yours. Forgive me?

  Still, he did have to thank her.

  The only problem was…how, exactly, did you go about thanking someone for saving your life?

  BRONTE FELT LIKE SHE MIGHT fall to her knees with relief.

  After having gone so many days without a clue in the case, after reviewing everything in Pryka’s case file and all the facts surrounding Robbins’s murder, the instant she’d connected Burns with the man in the video, everything had begun to click into place. But all of it had been circumstantial until repeated phone calls to the U.S. Marshal’s office that morning had finally connected her with Oliver Platt.

  From the beginning, she had questioned Melissa Robbins’s credibility as a witness. But she’d been so jazzed with the possibility of working on such a high-profile case she had ignored her gut instincts.

  So far she had it roughly worked out that after three years as Leonid Pryka’s main squeeze, Melissa Robbins had been tossed out with nothing but the clothes on her back and no way to support herself. And like many witnesses, she’d believed that WitSec not only provided people with new identities, she’d thought she’d be set for life from a financial standpoint. And in the process, she could reap a little revenge on Pryka for having dumped her.

  Only Robbins had soon found that WitSec merely provided the basic necessities and that it was still undecided if she would need further aid after the trial. The information she’d supplied became a little more sketchy, her stories changed…and she’d made the fatal mistake of becoming intimately involved with Dennis Burns, thinking him her ticket to getting what she wanted.

  Only Dennis Burns had had his own agenda. And a truck-load of luck working in his favor. He’d wanted not only Bronte’s job, but her boss’s, Bernie Leighton’s. But when he’d stumbled onto the fact that the woman he was using was also using him…he lost it.

  Bronte had every reason to believe that Melissa’s murder was a crime of passion—or a crime of ambition. Either way, when Burns was searching for a way to cover his tracks, he realized how similar he and Connor looked. From there on out, everything else was a piece of cake.

  Bronte figured she should be upset that Robbins had used her that way. And even wondered if she owed Pryka an apology for having pursued him so diligently based on Robbins’s testimony alone. A woman scorned was definitely a force to be reckoned with. However, all she could do was be thankful she had finally figured everything out.

  Still, all that didn’t change what had happened between her and Connor.

  She glanced up to find him stepping toward the kitchen. Her heart contracted painfully. Even now, she was shocked that Connor had gone through all he had, arranging with his brothers the elaborate scheme to have her brought safely to him, only so he could give her the brush-off outside her town house. She’d been so upset, she’d completely forgotten about the evidence she had to clear him. She tried to fortify her legs. After all this, she refused to end up on her knees, looking like a fool in front of the room full of people milling about, slapping each other on the back. She discreetly reached behind her and braced herself against the floor-model television, unable to work everything out. They didn’t make any sense, Connor’s words to her earlier. She had never indicated one way or another that she expected a future with him. Why, then, his speech?

  Kelli stopped midsentence, though Bronte couldn’t have said what she’d been talking about to save her life. “Are you all right?”

  “Hmm?” Bronte peeled her gaze away from Connor’s retreating back. She gazed into her friend’s concerned face and felt the ridiculous urge to cry.

  “Oh, God, what’s the matter, Bronte?” Her face grew stern. “And don’t you dare try telling me everything’s fine. I’ve heard the word one too many times over the past eight months.”

  Bronte looked down, discreetly blinking back the moisture that had begun collecting in her eyes. She was startled by the laugh that choked off her words. “Tough, because you’re going to hear it again.”

  She shook her head. It seemed incredible that just a short time ago she’d been pining away over Thomas Jenkins. In light of what had passed between her and Connor…well, she was growing increasingly convinced that her reaction to finding out Thomas was married was more a matter of broken pride than a broken heart. What she and Thomas had shared had been convenient. This…thing with Connor couldn’t have been more inconvenient. He had stumbled into her life at a time when her defenses were high, when her willingness to become involved with another man were remarkably low, and when merely associating with him threatened a job she had worked so hard to keep.

  Yet, somehow, he had effortlessly moved past those phenomenal barriers and had chiseled a spot for himself inside her heart.

  She visually sought him out, finding him with his back turned toward her, talking to his father. Unfortunately, he had about as much intention of marrying her as Thomas had. She was also coming to understand that he didn’t trust her as much as she’d believed. Ultimately, he had decided to lock her out, just as he had turned away the rest of his family. And the thought of what his actions might have led to…

  “Oh, God,” Kelli said, her green eyes widening. She stepped close so that Bronte alone heard her next words. “Not you and…Connor?”

  Bronte looked at her a little too quickly, was a little slow in covering her shock, and she knew it by her friend’s open-mouthed reaction.

  “For God’s sake, Bronte, are you nuts?”

  She bit hard on the inner flesh of her cheek, finding those damn tears far too close to the surface for comfort. “Yes, I guess I am.”

  Kelli took her arm and guided her toward the front door. Within moments, they stood on the front porch, the chaos ins
ide the house left behind them. Kelli closed the door, apparently so she wouldn’t be overheard, then crossed her arms.

  “I don’t know quite what to say.”

  Bronte stepped to the edge of the porch, looking out over the beautiful land that was Manchester, Virginia…and knowing she could never come back here. “So don’t say anything.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “That would certainly be a refreshing first.”

  Instantly, Kelli was at her side, her arm over her shoulders. “When did this happen? How far has it gone? Does he feel the same?”

  Bronte closed her eyes, the questions coming too quickly, her mind unable to take everything in. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. What does is that it can never work out. Tomorrow just isn’t part of the equation.”

  “Oh, geez, Bronte. I’m sorry.”

  Kelli tugged her into her arms, squeezing her tightly. Oh, how much Bronte wished she could give herself over to the emotions swirling like last night’s violent thunderstorm inside her. But she didn’t dare. Not when the man responsible for her pain stood just on the other side of that door.

  “You know, if you had let me in on this earlier, I could have warned you that this would happen,” Kelli said softly, still holding her and refusing to let go.

  “I didn’t have a chance to. It all happened so quickly.”

  Kelli pulled slightly back to look into her face. “Like you would have told me, anyway.”

  Bronte laughed, the emotional release giving vent to the tears gathering at the backs of her eyes. “Remind me to fill you in on everything a little later, okay? Right now…right now, I just can’t.”

  “Everything?” Kelli asked, moving her hands to her shoulders and squeezing.

  Bronte nodded. “Yes, everything.”

  Behind them, the door opened. Kelli finally released her. Bronte took advantage of the freedom to step away and swipe at her cheeks outside the line of vision of their new visitor.

  “Is everything okay?” a French-accented female voice asked.

  “Couldn’t be better,” Kelli said just a tad too cheerfully.

  Bronte turned to greet Michelle, Jake’s wife. Michelle smiled at her, then shook her head. “I know that look. It only comes when one dares to fall in love with one of the stubborn McCoy men, no?”

  Bronte wondered if every single female in the house had gone through what she had. The defining difference, of course, was that they were all married to their McCoys. She… Well, she would prove the exception. The only one who hadn’t fully landed her McCoy.

  “Bronte?”

  For the second time that day, she nearly jumped out of her skin. But this time it wasn’t because she was afraid for Connor’s safety. No. This time Connor had said her name and she was concerned for her own safety. Her mental and emotional safety.

  She glanced at Kelli. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one concerned. She touched her friend’s arm, warning her not to spill the accusatory words so obviously on the tip of her tongue.

  Connor cleared his throat. “Can I speak to you for a moment?” He motioned toward the large front lawn. “Out here?”

  Bronte nodded, ignoring the leap of hope in her heart.

  Kelli whispered into her ear, “Give me a yell if you need any help.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, though the image of petite police officer Kelli taking down the rough and tough Connor almost made her want to smile. Almost.

  Her palms overly damp, she followed the man, who had stolen her heart only to break it, toward the cars choking the driveway. The highway patrol vehicles were just backing out, but Bronte could take little joy in seeing Dennis Burns in the back of the first one, except that it meant that Connor was now rightfully cleared of any and all wrongdoing.

  “What is it?” she asked, crossing her arms in the hopes of coming off more composed than she was.

  Connor glanced at his boots, his grimace making her stomach bottom out. “I just wanted to say…well, I think I should…” He finally looked up, his gaze slamming into hers, the shadow in his steely green eyes making her heart skip a beat. “Aw, hell, Bronte, thank you.”

  Thank you? That’s what he’d brought her out here for? She wanted to ask him what he was thanking her for, but she already knew. He was grateful that she had gotten him off the hook.

  She forced air through her tight throat and somehow managed to conjure up a smile. “Don’t mention it.”

  He began to walk away.

  Bronte felt frustration saturate her muscles, surround them, until she was swimming in it. “Connor?”

  He stopped but didn’t turn to face her.

  “Is that it? Is that all you wanted to say?”

  For long moments he just stood there—his back impossibly straight, his shoulders drawn tight and taut—a mere instant in which Bronte’s heart threatened to beat right out of her chest, not daring to hope, but hoping anyway.

  She heard him clear his throat. “No. I also wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

  Sorry?

  Bronte ignored the squeezing of her heart and concentrated instead on all the implications of his apology.

  Sorry?

  Her prosecutor’s mind quickly leafed through the series of events leading up to today. To this moment.

  He resumed walking away. Bronte watched him for a moment as she compiled everything she’d come to know about one strikingly sexy Connor McCoy.

  Then a lightbulb flicked on, shining through the pain of rejection, the cloud of confusion that made it impossible to see the truth for what it was.

  Her feet sprung into action and within two strides she grasped his arm and forced him to face her. She swallowed hard at the surprised expression he wore and knew that her suspicions were true.

  “Connor, do you mind telling me what you’re sorry for?” She snatched her hand back from temptation and stared at him unblinkingly. “You know, just so I can be clear on what’s happening here.”

  He looked completely stumped. And Bronte’s ire rose even further. “I’m sorry for, you know…hurting you.”

  “Hurting me how?” She crossed her arms over her chest again, this time out of growing frustration more than the need to fortify herself.

  He gestured helplessly with his right hand and she noticed the color in his neck darken. “By…breaking things off with you.”

  She cringed at the jab, but refused to give herself over to it the way she had earlier. There was more going on here than what was on the surface, and she wasn’t going to stop until she unearthed it—no matter the price she might pay.

  She bit discreetly on her bottom lip, then refocused her attention on him. “Liar,” she said point-blank.

  She didn’t know if the risk would pay off, if she would end up looking like a desperate woman grasping at straws. But she had to know for sure if what she suspected was correct.

  His slow, spreading grin made her heart bounce up into her throat. “I was afraid you were coming to know me too well.”

  Bronte had never hit another person in her life. But she did so now. She pulled her hand back and socked Connor right in the chest. “You moron. You said what you did to protect me, didn’t you? Spouted that grandiose speech about how we weren’t meant to be, pretended you didn’t care about me, so you could get me out of the way.”

  He rubbed his chest, the amusement in his eyes shifting to growing wariness, as well it should have.

  Bronte fairly shook with anger. “Boy, you really take the cake, you know that, McCoy?” She pointed a finger at him. “Have you stopped to consider exactly what that little ruse of yours could have meant? That had I had the reaction you were banking on, gone back into my town house and worked on forgetting that you even existed, you would be on your way to jail right now instead of Dennis Burns?”

  His grimace was all too endearing, which made her all the madder at him.

  “In fact, I bet, right now, that it really bothers you that a woman beat you to the punch, doesn’t it? It eats
you that you had to rely on a woman to help you out—big, bad Connor McCoy, who doesn’t need anyone.” She tried to calm her nerves, but the more she spoke, the more her argument gelled. “Do you know that if you had gone to your brothers before now, with their help and resources, you probably would have figured the whole thing out without my help?” She shook her head. “But no. You’re big, bad Connor McCoy, who doesn’t need anyone, much less a woman.”

  The truth of what she was saying began to sink in. No, Connor might not have meant the words he told her outside her town house. But he might as well have. From where she stood, his inability to trust anyone completely but himself…his inability to allow others to decide for themselves…well, that made him someone she couldn’t trust. With her life, yes. Not with her heart. Not with her soul.

  “Guess what, Connor? I know you love me, even if you’re too thickheaded to see that.”

  He began to reach out for her, but she batted him away blindly. He glanced toward the house. Bronte briefly looked to see that the entire McCoy clan stood there looking on.

  “No, don’t you dare touch me. I don’t want you to touch me again…ever.” She swallowed past the emotion clogging her throat. “No. Wrong word. I think the word you would use would be never, right? Never will you get married. Never will you have children.” She swiped at a tear that had rolled down her nose. “Well, let me add another never to your list. Never are you allowed to step within speaking distance of me again.”

  Giving him a long, hard look, she started to round him, her destination her car. She stopped beside him. “I can’t trust a man who doesn’t trust me. Who doesn’t respect me as a human being capable of making my own decisions.” Her voice caught. “And I can’t continue to love a man who is too wounded to admit he loves me. Who understands that the word ‘never’ has no room in a relationship built on love.”