Freeing Kipling: Gray Wolf Security Texas, #6

Prologue

Kipling

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Oh, God! I can’t believe how big she’s gotten!

Jesse laughed as she looked over at our daughter. Grace was playing at the corner of the desk where Jesse had set up the computer. Skype was a fucking amazing thing! I couldn’t believe I could actually see them. I felt as if I could reach through the computer and touch them both. I don’t know if it was harder than phone calls and email, but it was incredible. I wanted to stare at them for hours.

Three in a month, Jesse said. She can’t wait. She’s been talking about her birthday nonstop.

Have you decided on the kind of cake you want?

She wants chocolate. I’ve already ordered it from Dancy’s Bakery.

Good. That’s my favorite.

We know that.

I sat back and scratched my beard. Jesse eyed it with that look she always got when she saw my bearded face. She hated beards.

It’s temporary, babe.

Do you have to grow one of those every time you go overseas?

I like it.

No; you just like looking like one of the guys.

There’s that too.

She laughed. I can’t wait for you to get home, so we can have these arguments face to face.

There are other things we’ll be doing when we’re face to face. Things that are much more exciting.

Jesse blushed so brightly that I could see it clearly over the thousands of miles between us. I laughed because I loved embarrassing her. For a woman who’d been married for five years and had a child, she was still amazingly bashful. And I loved it.

Oh, I meant to tell you. I ran into some guy at the market the other day who knows you.

What guy?

He didn’t say his name, but he knew you. Asked when you were coming home this time around.

I frowned, a little wary of anyone who would want that kind of information. Jesse saw my frown and smiled, leaning close to the camera.

Don’t worry, darling. I didn’t tell him anything. I just said you were doing well and thanked him for asking.

What did he look like?

She shrugged. Medium height. Dark hair. He had that wild look, as if he was fresh from over there. Sort of like he hadn’t yet acclimated to being home.

Jesse would know that look. She’d spent enough time on army bases these last few years. It was only shortly before my last deployment that she finally decided she wanted to go home to Houston and buy a nice little house not far from the neighborhood where she grew up. Her parents were three miles down the road, close enough to be there when she needed help, but far enough away to not be intrusive. It was a nice situation really. I liked it. And it would be nice to settle down there when I left the service in another few years.

I love you, sweetheart, I said as I spotted Ash Grayson coming into the communications tent. He was a sergeant with my unit, fresh out of college and full of bright ideas that I’d have to break him out of, but he was a good soldier. And he looked like he had something heavy on his mind. I have to go. Business calls.

Will you be able to Skype again tomorrow?

I’ll try. Give the little one a kiss for me.

***

I was finally asleep after spending most of the evening chasing down intel on a new hotspot of Taliban activity. My unit was headed over there tomorrow, likely our last major mission before we were to go stateside in a few weeks. I couldn’t wait to go home and hold my girls in my arms again. The desire was so strong; I could almost feel Grace’s slight body against my breastbone, her mother’s equally delicate body against my side.

I was dreaming of the homecoming, of setting down my duffle and holding out my arms to the girls, when someone shoved my shoulder hard enough to pull me instantly out of the dream.

What the hell? I muttered, sitting up and staring into the face of my intruder.

I’m sorry, sir, Grayson said as he studied my face with something like pity.

What’s going on? The intel change?

No, sir. This is... personal.

Get a ‘Dear John’ email, son?

No, sir. His eyes fell from mine, an uncertainty I’d never seen in his face sending a chill of dread down my spine. It’s your family, sir.

What do you mean, my family?

The commander, he—

Tell me, soldier!

Grayson looked up at me, his eyes moving slowly over my face. There’s been an incident at your house. They... your family...

"What? I demanded, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. What are you telling me?"

They’ve been killed, sir. I’m sorry.

The world went gray. I got up and dressed mechanically, moving slowly, deliberately. I walked calmly to the communications tent. I found my commander there, talking to someone over a satellite phone. He stopped speaking when he saw me.

Kipling, he said, his tone kind. But all I heard was the use of my first name, a courtesy he’d never extended to me before. And that’s when I knew.

I promptly turned and vomited on my shoes.

Chapter 1

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Kipling

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Ten years later... Thanksgiving Night...

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I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like celebrating anything. But tonight I was so grateful to have found the Graysons and Gray Wolf Security 2 that I couldn’t find the words to express it.

To family, was all I could say when it was my turn to offer a toast at the Thanksgiving table.

Everyone, with the exception of Nolan and Pepper, was there. Ingram and his wife, Bailey, were at one end of the table, her swollen belly growing bigger and bigger by the day. Elliot and his girl, Brooks—the architect of this excellent meal—were at the other end, staring into each other’s eyes like no one else existed. Alex and Tierney were a little less starry-eyed, but just as affectionate, stealing looks and kisses when his sister, Vanessa, wasn’t watching. Knox was chasing her boyfriend’s kids around the room, laughing each time one of them did something that would drive another mother to distraction; her man, Dunlap, watching with a look of utter amazement on his face. And then, of course, David and Ricki were there, Ricki lain out on a lounger that had been brought into the dining room especially for her so that she wouldn’t have to sit up and risk driving her blood pressure too high, but so she also wouldn’t miss the festivities.

And Chase, curled up in my lap, sound asleep. The effects of the tryptophan in turkey always seemed to have a more powerful effect on children.

This night was so different from the traditions that Jesse had insisted we follow during our marriage that there was no comparison, but it still reminded me of those wonderful dinners. I missed my wife with an intensity that hurt, and I missed my little girl, whom I was still getting to know when a monster took her away from me.

I shouldn’t have gone on that last tour of duty; I never should have left them alone. But I did. And they were gone. And the man who did it was gone. There was no longer the potential of revenge. I’d dreamed since the moment I’d learned how they’d died of killing that bastard, of stringing him up and doing worse things to him than he’d done to my girls. But he’d been murdered in prison just a few weeks ago and I’d missed my chance. That was something I would have to learn to live with. And I was doing my best. Meeting David and his family and accepting a position with Gray Wolf 2 had gone a long way to help me heal, to help me see that there was still life left for me to live, purpose for me to fulfill. I would never stop missing my family, never stop feeling that driving need for revenge. But now I had other things to distract me, to make me whole again.

I slipped out of the dining room and carried Chase up to his bed. I stood and watched him for a moment, admiring the peaceful sleep only small children seemed capable of achieving. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept without nightmares. I hoped that Chase would never experience something in his life that would disturb his peaceful sleep.

I was just coming back down when the buzzer rang at the front gate.

Who the hell could have business with us today of all days?

One look at the monitor on Annie’s desk and the good feelings melted into something darker.

I chose to walk down there rather than have this discussion over an intercom that might be overheard by someone else.

What are you doing here?

He was innocent.

I shook my head, staring at her, at her familiar features that were almost as ingrained on my mind as my wife’s.

He confessed.

Harley Connors held up a piece of paper, shoved it through the slates of the wrought-iron gate. The DNA came back yesterday. He was innocent. It wasn’t his DNA in that house.

I picked up the paper and briefly thought of tearing it up. What did it matter now? The man had confessed to the murders of my wife and child and had known things that only the police and the killer could have known. And he’d argued with his sister over the many attempts she’d made in the past ten years to get him a new trial and get him out of prison. He was clearly aware of what he’d done and happy to pay for it.

So what if she’d had a few bits of blood left behind by the killer tested? So what if she wasted her time on more testing and wasted the court’s time on things that would not change their decision.

But she was right. The tests ruled Mickey Connors out as the source of the DNA.

Did that matter? Maybe he had an accomplice. The prosecutor had contended that from the very beginning.

This doesn’t mean anything, I said, shoving the paper back through the gate to her.

It proves Mickey didn’t rape your wife.

The words fell between us like a stone in a river. And, for me, they brought back a series of memories I had packed away, memories I wasn’t about to unpack and review like I had done so many times in the aftermath of my wife’s and daughter’s murders. I wasn’t going back down that dark road after I had just pulled myself off of it.

I turned to walk back up to the house.

Mr. McKay! Kipling!

I couldn’t look at her without seeing Mickey. They looked very little alike, but the knowledge that she was his sister, the knowledge that she came from the same bloodline as that monster was enough to make me despise her. How could she fight for him? How could she fight for a monster who would do the things he’d done to my family? How could someone as beautiful and as intelligent as her indulge in his lies?

Please, Kipling. I know this is hard for you, but you’re the only one I have left to turn to.

He’s dead.

She was quiet, not responding to the obvious. I turned to look at her and saw in her face the same pain and grief that I still saw in my own face whenever I looked in a mirror—which wasn’t often. She stepped back slightly, shivering in the cold November wind.

I know that.

So why keep fighting for him?

Her eyes narrowed slightly. Why did you show up to each and every one of his court appearances? Why did you come to the hearings during the appeals process? Why were you there every time his name was so much as mentioned in a legal setting?

To make sure he paid for what he did to my family.

I want the same thing. She pressed a hand between her full breasts. I want the person who did this horrible thing to pay for what they did. It’s an awful crime, things that a child, a mother, should never have to experience. But I know my brother didn’t do it.

I shook my head and started to turn.

I want to know the truth, Mr. McKay. And I know you do, too.

I know the truth, I said, my voice low with the deep control necessary to keep my temper under wraps. I’ve read your brother’s confession and seen the tape of him offering it. He knew things that no one but the killer himself could have known.

I realize that.

How could he have known those things if he didn’t do this?

Someone told him.

I shook my head. It was a new theory, one she’d just begun to push a few months ago when the judge had made it pretty clear that her brother was running out of options. She’d found some bank account... I don’t know. She was desperate. She was grasping at straws.

She thought someone had paid her brother to confess.

It’s a ridiculous idea, Harley. Why would he confess to something he hadn’t done? Why go to prison with a life sentence? Hell, he might have gotten the death penalty if he hadn’t confessed and made a deal with the prosecutors!

He was going to jail on the robbery charge anyway.

But that wouldn’t have been life.

It would have been long enough.

I shook my head again. It doesn’t make sense.

I have more.

She turned to go to her car, shivering again in the cold weather. I hadn’t noticed before, but she wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a light sweater and a pair of jeans. I watched her move. I watched her hips shift under those jeans, watching as she turned, a thick accordion file between her hands, just below the clear reaction of her nipples to the cold wind. I forced myself to look away, humiliated at the idea of being attracted to this woman who was fighting so hard to free my wife’s killer. What an insult, having such thoughts about this woman after what’d happened to Jesse. I’d thought... there would never be another woman for me. Never. But someone had forgotten to inform my still functioning libido.

She lifted the accordion file.

Look through it. You’ll see.

I don’t know what it was. Curiosity? An instinctive need to help? The need to get into the house, outside of the biting wind that was beginning to infiltrate my fur-lined jacket? I don’t know, but I walked over to the gate controls and dialed in the code.

Come up to the house. I want to show the DNA test results to a lawyer friend.

It’s Thanksgiving.

"Oh, you’re