Barefoot by the Sea

“Clay could come and pick you up,” Lacey offered from the back, the offer so natural and genuine. Of course it was; they were friends now. He was part of their community.

He shook his head at the realization of how they’d all hate him once he disappeared. Even if he succeeded in persuading Henry to let him tell Tessa the truth, what would she tell them when he left?

Holy hell, he was in a bind. Henry had to help him. The safe phone practically burned a hole in his pocket.

“I’m fine,” he assured them. “You have a good time shopping, ladies.” He gave them a wave and stepped back, and, thankfully, Zoe threw the Jeep into Drive.

“We will!” she promised, hitting the accelerator and taking off, only Ashley turning around to wave good- bye.

The minute he was alone, he pulled out the phone and stared at it. The instructions for use of this had always been clear: Answer when Henry calls, and never call him first unless it was a life-or-death emergency.

He was pretty sure Henry would say this didn’t qualify, but screw that. He closed his eyes and saw the image of Tessa’s smile. He couldn’t go another day lying to her. She’d told him all her secrets the night before, and all that had done was make him care more for her. And hate himself.

Turning away to get the glare off the screen, he tapped the only number the phone was programmed to call. “What?” As suspected, Henry didn’t sound pleased to hear from him.

“I got a problem,” he said, slipping naturally into his native accent, which usually made his whole body relax. But not today. Henry was sure to put up a fight about this.

“They found you?” There was enough edge in the other man’s voice to let Ian know he wasn’t completely safe, not yet, anyway.

“No. No news on that front?” He had to ask.

“I’ll call you, mate. What’s wrong?”

“It’s this marriage thing.”

Henry barely grunted. “I thought you had that covered.”

“You told me to get it covered and I told you I’m working on it. But I—”

“You want your kids or not?”

Fuck it. He refused to even answer that. “What I want is to trust someone.”

A long silence.

“I really believe I can trust her, Henry. I know I can.” Did he, though? She’d shared a secret with him, but it wasn’t life-changing or, hell, life-ending. It was a little bit of dirty laundry, not the fact that he was living incognito to stay alive.

“You can’t afford to have a conscience, Browning.” Of course, Henry nailed it. “You can’t trust anyone. Believe me, I’ve seen this happen before, and it never ends well.”

It was Ian’s turn to be silent.

“And you also can’t afford to have feelings for someone,” Henry added.

Why did the man have to be so flipping smart? “Might be too late,” he admitted softly.

Henry sighed. “Look, mate, ultimately, it’s your call. I can’t force you to do anything. I can’t even force you to stay in this program. It’s voluntary, as you know. So you do what you have to do, but before you do it, I will counsel you to remember two things.”

“What?”

“Don’t you know?” Henry asked, sounding a little bewildered.

“No,” Ian admitted.

“Shiloh and Sam.”

His gut dropped at the thought of the two babies he needed to see and hold more than he needed his next breath.

“You leave this program or break our rules, they are off limits to you.”

“But just this once, I—”

“Not to mention,” Henry continued forcefully, “that it’s one thing to put yourself in danger, but it’s something else altogether to jeopardize your kids.”

Ian stared at the horizon, then closed his eyes, the horizontal slice of the sea against the sky burning his lids like a negative picture.

“We’re close, Ian, close to shutting down that gang. But we haven’t succeeded completely. Listen to me.” He lowered his voice as if he wanted Ian to press the phone closer to his ear and not miss a single word. “One of the two remaining members is Luther Vane’s younger brother, Darius.”

Luther Vane. Who had admitted he’d stabbed Kate ten times.

“So if you want to whisper one word of your history and identity, you remember that. It’s not about money for Darius Vane. It’s about taking out the guy who put his brother in jail, and, frankly, that’s a more dangerous motivator. You understand that, don’t you?”

He didn’t respond, the pressure of that reality too hard.

“Then let me remind you. Once N1L is shut down, you have a chance at getting your kids. A chance. Once you get them, you are still in a government protection program, and so are they, only you’ll take on another identity and live in another country as their father. There’s no getting around that. If Darius gets wind that you are alive and well and have your kids, he might stop at nothing for revenge.”

The truth actually hurt when it was spelled out like that. There was no room in his life for a woman. Even when he had the kids—he wouldn’t let himself think “if”—he couldn’t subject Tessa to a life under protection. A woman who recoiled at deceit? A woman whose whole personality was formed by her mother lying to her?

No, he couldn’t do that to her.

“Are you there?” Henry barked.

He was there…but dead inside. “Yeah.”

“Okay, then you heard me. For God’s sake, don’t let your cock or, hell, your feelings get in the way of that reality.”

He dragged out the word feelings like they were nothing but repulsive.

Ian blew out a breath. “I won’t.” The promise sounded vacant and weak, kind of like he felt right then.

“And I’ll keep you…” The rest of Henry’s sentence was drowned out by a loud truck engine coming up from town, on the other side of the road. Ian automatically turned away, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone, all his protective instincts on alert with the news that rang in his ears.

Luther Vane’s brother was out there—somewhere.

A door slammed and he had to turn, coming face-to-face with a bull of a man crossing the street. “Hey, dickhead!” the man called out.

“What the hell was that?” Henry asked.

Grace Hartgrave’s husband. Son of a bitch! “Nothing. I gotta go.”

“Remember those two things, mate. Oh—and for Christ’s sake, stay out of trouble.”

Ian tapped the phone and stood with his feet splayed as Hartgrave ambled over, silent, menacing, and really pissed off. Well, Grace’s parting shot had been “Fuck you.” And Ian had a feeling he was about to get fucked.

Hartgrave stopped about two feet from Ian, who didn’t say a word. They were about the same height, but the other man had marshmallow where Ian had muscle. He could kill Grace Hartgrave’s husband, but the last thing he ever wanted to do was land on the radar of local law enforcement.

“I talked to my wife.”

He should do more than talk to her; maybe then she wouldn’t throw herself at strangers. Ian just nodded.

“She said you made a pass at her.”

“She’s lying,” he said simply.

“Gracie don’t lie.” Beads of sweat formed on his oversized forehead, his face the flushed red of a heavy drinker.

Ian pressed his lips together, meeting his opponent’s narrow gaze. “She did this time.”

“You see her last night?”

“I saw her, but I didn’t see her.”