Matt—The Callahan Brothers (Brazos Bend Book 2) (10 page)

At that, Torie started to laugh. You had to like a town so brutally honest as to label the children of a leading citizen as the mischief-makers they apparently had been. Throwing logic out the window and relying on instinct alone, she made a Plan B decision. She needed to hide somewhere. Why not Brazos Bend? “Can you recommend a hotel or maybe a B and B in town?” she asked. “I’ll be staying awhile.”

Kathy Hudson’s brows arched. “You plan to compete for Demon’s attention?”

“You know what? Maybe I do.” Not in the same way his harem competed, and certainly not with the same goals. But after the events of the day, she liked the idea of being a thorn in the Demon’s side. What more appropriate skin could an Evil Twin prick?

She grinned at Kathy and added, “I’ll tell you a secret, Ms. Hudson. Demon and I? We’re a match made in hell.”

Chapter Five

Los Angeles

The lock
snicked
open. The intruder slipped inside the apartment. Ah, lovely. The signs of panic were unmistakable.

Torie Bradshaw had left a mess behind in her apartment.

Earlier visits had shown her to be tidy, if not excessively neat. Today, the television played to an empty room, a rain jacket lay on the carpet, and in the kitchen ... ah ... a gallon of milk sat spoiling on the countertop. A tube of raw cookie dough lay on the kitchen floor and the oven door stood open. The aroma of fear still clung to the air. Or was that baked puppy?

How delicious.

But time was wasting. While topping the last effort might prove difficult, the game must continue. Terror level stood at yellow. Torie still had orange and red to reach.

Orange. A lovely color. Orange required something a bit more ... intrusive ... than trapping a pet in an oven.

Time to go to work on Torie Bradshaw’s next surprise.

***

Inside the air-conditioned office of Brazos Bend Automotive, Matt thumbed the off button on his cell phone and blindly watched as the mechanic drove his F150 onto a lift in the shop. His mind wasn’t on the pesky engine whine he’d decided to have checked while his truck was in the shop for repairs. Instead, his brain churned with the information he’d gathered in the hours since Torie Bradshaw spun her tires leaving Four Brothers Vineyard.

He’d tried to ignore the entire incident, but between the chastising looks Les gave him and the nagging of his own conscience, he’d finally given in and made a few calls.

It looked like she’d been telling the truth. According to a detective named Vance, she’d filed a report with the Hollywood police last week and the pictures did exist. But stalkers were a dime a dozen out there in LaLa Land, and she was way down the list of sympathetic victims for the authorities.

She hadn’t told Vance about the mutt-in-the-oven incident, and his apparent lack of interest when Matt relayed the facts convinced him she’d read the detective right. Torie Bradshaw would get no help from that quarter.

The muffled croon of Patsy Cline played over the shop’s stereo system and Matt absently hummed along. Though he watched the mechanic wipe his greasy hands on a red rag as he inspected the truck’s shocks, Matt’s mind’s eye remained focused on the vision of a pistol-toting paparazzo.

After speaking with Detective Vance, Matt made a few more phone calls to contacts in both Washington and Europe and discovered that during the months he’d been recovering from a gunshot wound, she’d been busy making more enemies.

Surprise, surprise.

She’d dumped a boyfriend not long after her return from Soledad Island. Some “journalist” who wrote stories for the rags that published her pictures. Old boyfriends made good stalker suspects. Of course, so did offended zealots. Somehow Torie Bradshaw had managed to be involved in the brouhaha that had erupted last winter with that invent-a-religion band of corporate weirdos on a private island off the Carolina coast. What was it with that woman and islands?

Then there was the incident at the Oscar party. Matt didn’t blame Torie for showing off her jujitsu moves on that freehanded actor, but she’d cost a lot of people a lot of money by breaking his million-dollar nose.

And those were just three of the seemingly endless possibilities.

Matt wondered why she didn’t go to her father for help. When the general visited Matt in the hospital after his second operation, he’d declared his intention to disown Torie. Knowing firsthand what a blow such an action could be, Matt couldn’t wish it on even the likes of the Evil Twin. He’d argued against it and felt downright righteous doing so. Bradshaw had backed off on his vow then, but Matt wondered if the old soldier had followed through on his threat after all. Otherwise, why wouldn’t Torie have turned to the general for help rather than drive halfway across the country seeking assistance from a man she damn well knew held a grudge against her? It didn’t make sense.

But then, with Torie Bradshaw, what did?

His phone rang and he checked the number. His brother Mark was finally returning his call.

They exchanged the usual insults as greetings; then Matt got down to business. “I need you to do some electronic tracking for me.”

“Me?” After a moment’s pause, Mark said, “Excuse me, but aren’t you the spy?”

“This isn’t spying. This is personal, a private investigation. That’s what you do, isn’t it, now that you’ve left the military and hung out your own shingle?”

“Yeah, but I work for paying clients,” Mark grumbled. “You still owe me for that Nolan Ryan card you bought from me in 1986. So, what’s this about? Where are you, anyway?”

“Right now I’m watching Al Ayer take a wrench to the shocks on my truck.”

“You’re in Brazos Bend? I thought you were overseas.”

“Makes me worry about your investigative skills, then, bro. I got back last week.” With that, Matt decided they’d spent enough time on brotherly bonding. “I need to find someone who left here about four hours ago. You can probably track down her credit card to a gas station despite the fact that she was driving a MINI Cooper.”

“A Cooper? Makes my legs cramp just to think about it. So, who is this woman? Does this have something to do with Branch? If so, I’m going to charge you double.”

“I know better than to ask you to have anything to do with the old man.” Of the three surviving Callahan brothers, Mark nursed the hardest feelings where their father was concerned. Luke had mellowed somewhat in his hatred of Branch Callahan since his marriage to Maddie Kincaid, and while Matt remained mad as hell at the old bastard about his handling of the ransom demand for John, a part of him did understand his father’s point of view. As a result, he wasn’t quite ready to lay every bad thing that happened in the universe at Branch Callahan’s feet.

Now, Torie Bradshaw was another matter altogether. He wouldn’t be surprised if she were responsible for global warming, the eruption of Mount Saint Helens, and the Christmas tsunami.

Matt grimaced and, knowing he’d catch hell, bit the bullet. “It’s Torie Bradshaw. Victoria Lynn Bradshaw.”

There was a long silence. Out in the shop, the mechanic stepped from beneath his truck and flipped the switch to lower the lift. Finally, Mark said, “That Damned Woman?”

“Yeah.”

“She came to Brazos Bend?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Another moment of silence, then, “Are you bleeding anywhere?”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s your intuitive nature that makes you such a good investigator.”

“What happened?”

Matt began a rundown of the events of the morning. “Damn,” Mark interrupted. “She killed your ride?”

“Maimed it.”

As Matt continued his explanation, his brother made no further comment. When he’d finished, Mark asked, “So, you sent her off and what ... you want to make sure she’s gone?”

“Well, uh ...”

“You’re having second thoughts, aren’t you? You want to help her.”

“No. I don’t. I just ....”

“It’s that stupid conscience of yours. It doesn’t keep you out of trouble, but it makes you suffer afterward. I wish you’d explain to me how a man with your background can let a piece of ass play mind games like—”

“Knock it off, Mark,” Matt interjected. “I’m not getting involved in this. I’m just gonna help her find someone else who will. I believe she truly is in danger and it won’t hurt me to refer her to someone who can help. When I find out where she’s going, I’ll figure out who’s available and have them contact her. You’d do the same thing. Don’t try to tell me otherwise.”

“Yeah, well.”

“So, will you let me know where she goes to ground? My guess is that she’ll drive to DFW and get on a plane sometime tomorrow.”

After Mark agreed to provide the information Matt sought, the brothers traded a few more insults to end the conversation. Matt disconnected the call and noticed the mechanic waiting for him holding a clipboard and a handwritten estimate. Ten minutes later, Matt was on the road again in a rented truck, with no real place to go.

Which was probably why he found himself driving past his father’s Country Club estate.

He pulled over to the curb in front of the house and sat idling, allowing the memories to flow. He could all but hear the laughter floating from the windows, smell the aroma of hamburgers on the grill, see the ghosts of a summer evening playing tag in the front yard.

Once upon a time, the walls of the place overflowed with happiness. Margaret Mary Callahan had ruled the family roost with love, laughter, and the ability to keep her boys—all five of them, including Branch—in line with little more than a stern look. When she died, the light went out in all their lives and the Callahans descended into a darkness that had yet to lift. With John gone, it probably never would.

The front door to the house opened and something small and furry exploded from inside, raced down the front walk, planted its four pawsCat least, Matt thought there must be paws under all that hair—and started yipping. No way that noise was deep enough to be termed a bark.

Another purse pet. Two in one day. He found something about that to be kind of scary.

Even scarier was the figure who followed the dog out the front door. Branch Callahan was dressed in a nylon running suit sporting the Dallas Cowboys logo. He had white running shoes on his feet and carried his own grandfather’s hickory cane in his hand. He leaned heavily upon it as he walked.

Well, that was something new. The last time Matt had seen Branch, he’d used a walker exclusively. Maybe the new physical therapy program his sister-in-law, Maddie, had arranged was doing some good.

“Matthew!” Branch’s voice boomed, and a smile blossomed across his craggy, deeply lined face. “You’re home, safe and sound. Thank God. I heard you were back in the States, but I didn’t know if I’d see you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Well, you drove over here, fool.
Bowing to the inevitable, Matt turned off the engine and climbed down out of the cab. He met his father beside the mailbox. The yappy dog stood at his feet and continued his squeaking. Because it looked as if his father intended to reach out and hug him, Matt seized on the obvious distraction. “What the hell is that?”

Branch grinned down at the dog. “Matthew, meet Paco. He’s the newest resident of Callahan House.”

“Paco?”

“Maria named him,” Branch replied, referring to one of the Garza sisters, who’d worked for Branch for years. “He’s a Pomeranian who’s due for a trip to the groomer’s.”

“So he’s Maria’s dog,” Matt clarified.

“No. He’s mine. Having Luke and Maddie’s Knucklehead around made me realize how much I missed having a dog. I mentioned it to Maddie, and the last time she talked Luke into visiting, she helped me find Paco. He’s good company.”

Matt couldn’t believe Branch had brought home a dog, especially not a lapdog like this one. The family had always owned golden retrievers, but when the last one, Ralph, died when Matt was seventeen, Branch swore he was done with dogs.

“Why not another golden?”

“Considered it.” Branch glanced back toward the house as if looking for Ralph’s ghost. Sighing, he explained, “I wanted a puppy, and I knew I couldn’t keep up with a golden. You know how rowdy they are. This one, I can manage.” He nudged Paco with the toe of his shoe and made stupid cooing noises. “You won’t knock me over, will you, boy?”

The dog wiggled and jumped in circles, gazing up at Branch with total devotion as Branch made more unfortunate gushy sounds. Matt shook his head in disgust. Didn’t anyone get real dogs anymore? Yet, Branch was obviously besotted with the yappy thing, and Matt realized that having a pet probably made the old man feel a little less lonely.

Guilt tried to snake its way into Matt’s mind, but he slammed the door against it. Or at least, he tried to. And failed. Dammit, this was why he didn’t like to come around the old man’s house.

Matt’s relationship with his father made his job with the CIA look simple. The trouble started when his mother died and Branch lost himself in grief. Without adult guidance or supervision, but with plenty of money to spend and lots of misery to drown, the Callahan brothers went wild. They lived up to their “Holy Terrors” nickname with wild parties, dangerous drag races, and other general stupidity. What finally did them in was a drunken prank that accidentally set the town’s boot factory on fire and cost dozens of people their jobs.