Ultimate Sins (46 page)

Them, and every innocent life Wayne had taken.

Crowe nodded. “They know.”

*   *   *

Stepping from the bedroom, he faced Amelia and their child. As Amelia stared back at him, shaking, Crowe saw the fear in his lover's eyes that he'd been forced to kill again. It would hurt her, he thought, finally realizing the lessons his father had taught him and why. It was a man's responsibility to be gentle, loving, to be a man who fought monsters, not be a monster himself, in his family's eyes.

“Crowe?” Amelia whispered. “Is he…” She swallowed. “Is he dead?”

“He shot himself with his own gun,” he lied and didn't even hesitate. He'd sworn to her once he'd never lie to her, but this was one of those lies that didn't count. This lie would ease her, and it would ensure his daughter didn't have nightmares of monsters with her father's face.

He bent, resting on his haunches in front of his daughter as she stared back at him—and by God, he had to grin. There wasn't so much as an ounce of fear in her eyes.

“I knew you would get him,” she said softly as she held on to her mother. Her brown-and-amber eyes were suspicious, though.

She didn't believe him.

Maybe Amelia didn't, either.

He lifted his head, staring up at her.

Whether she did or not, it wasn't in her eyes. All he saw there was love.

He turned back to his daughter, opening his arms. As she flew into them, he whispered, “There's my girl.”

His arms wrapped around her, tight. Holding on to her, tears filling his eyes, he felt Amelia next to him, her love surrounding both of them.

“My baby girl,” he whispered against Kimmy's hair.

“I love you, Daddy…”

 

EPILOGUE

News of Wayne's “suicide” exploded around the county just as Thea's return from the dead and Crowe's six-year-old daughter were being reported.

Journalists were once again flooding Corbin County and camping on the doorsteps of anyone who may or may not have been involved. The reporters were told Sorenson had managed to access his former home through a hidden door, where he'd managed to use a silencer to kill the security agent outside the bedroom door of the child Crowe Callahan was claiming as his own. When he found the room empty, then came face-to-face with the Callahan, he'd put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger rather than be taken.

No one suspected how he'd really died.

No one, least of all the security agent paid to arrange it, was aware that the experts who had spent a week going over the equipment had figured out exactly how he managed to get past their defenses.

Crowe knew the mettle of the man he'd partnered with when he went into business with Ivan Resnova. From the moment they'd realized Mike had allowed Wayne to slip past their security and kill Ivan's cousin, Crowe had suspected Mike's body would disappear just as completely as Stoner's had.

No one was more surprised the next morning when Archer called with news of Mike's arrest, though. Crowe wouldn't have blamed Ivan; the young man who'd died had been close to the Russian. Crowe would have considered helping had Ivan asked, because even if Kimmy didn't have nightmares for years to come, Crowe knew he would have them where that night was concerned.

He was waiting for Ivan as he stepped into the house that afternoon, his dark, aristocratic face heavy, his gaze brooding.

“Uncle Ivan.” Kimmy appeared at the doorway, stepping slowly into the foyer, her big dark eyes solemn as she stared up at the man.

She'd been picking out her own clothes since she was three, Amelia had told Crowe that morning when he first caught sight of Kimmy skipping through the house. She wore black leggings and a knee-length sweater dress of some sort paired with furry boots.

She was celebrating, she'd informed them all solemnly. The bad man was gone and now they were all just going to live happily ever after like the princesses do in the fairy tales.

Ivan sighed deeply then squatted down and stared back at the little girl with the air of a man facing a battle he wasn't certain he wanted to fight.

“Kimmy…” he started, resigned.

“I'm very sorry about the bad man killing Rico.” Her voice was soft, the compassion Crowe was beginning to glimpse in her filling it. “I liked him a lot.”

Ivan's face softened immeasurably, and for a moment Crowe was given a glimpse of the father Ivan must have been to his own daughter.

“Thank you very much, Kimmy,” he said softly. “I appreciate your kindness.”

“If you need to talk, Uncle Ivan, I'm always here.” She nodded sagely.

For a moment, Ivan looked a little bemused. “Kimmy, your papa has told you I'm not your uncle, has he not?” he asked the girl.

Kimmy stared back at him with a quiet, solemn wisdom. “But you're my uncle because I picked you to be. But I understand you're upset with me and Mommy right now, 'cause you think we were mean to Daddy.” She reached out to touch his cheek with her tiny hand. “I promise, we're gonna make Daddy very happy, though.”

His lips quirked sadly. Crowe realized that perhaps Kimmy was right, in some ways. Ivan had been furious since the night Kimmy had arrived.

“Yes, I know you make your papa very happy,” he said softly. “And perhaps it's not so much anger I feel as it is jealousy, because my beautiful little girl no longer needs her papa.”

“All little girls need their daddy,” Kimmy promised him then. “Just sometimes.” She gave Crowe a very firm look before turning back to Ivan. “Our daddies just get silly and hurt our feelings really bad and don't know it. Did you hurt your little girl's feelings, Uncle Ivan?”

“I would hope I did not,” he answered, almost amused.

“Well, I think you should ask her.” Kimmy crossed her arms and stuck out one little sneaker-shod foot as she nodded wisely. “And just ask her nice, like you would ask her if she wanted ice cream. Maybe have ice cream when you ask her.” She nodded again as she gave this advice.

Ivan blinked back at her, then lifted his gaze to Crowe.

“You, my friend, are in so much trouble,” he murmured.

Kimmy turned back and flashed a Crowe a grin so innocent he nearly winced.

Oh Lord—

“Yeah,” he answered Ivan. “I am.”

“Come, little one.” Focusing on Kimmy once more, he held out his hands. “You may call me Uncle Ivan then.”

An infectious giggle fell from her lips as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged with all the exuberance of an emotionally confident six-year-old.

“I didn't ask for permission, Uncle Ivan.” She smacked a kiss to his cheek. “I already knew it was okay.”

Then she turned and bounced out of the room just as quickly.

Straightening, Ivan shook his head as a small grin played at his lips. Then, straightening the belted band of his slacks at his hips, he focused on Crowe once again.

“I hear you turned Mike in to the FBI?” Crowe asked as the other man slowly slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks and stared back at Crowe for long, silent moments.

“Unfortunately, Amara and her friend Grace arrived as my men arrived at the offices with him.” Ivan grimaced. “I do try to keep my true nature hidden from my daughter.” His gaze slid to the doorway Kimmy had disappeared into. “I'm certain you understand.”

His daughter Amara was twenty-one rather than the seventeen or eighteen most assumed she was. She was also making her father insane with her awareness of his former job description.

“I do.” Crowe nodded.

“Ah well, time to get the agents home,” Ivan stated. “I'll have them begin packing and get them out of here so you and your family have a chance to spend time together.”

Tilting his head, Crowe saw the flicker of anger in his gaze then.

“Are you angry with Amelia, Ivan?” Crowe asked the question softly as the other man turned to leave.

Ivan paused then turned back slowly, that air of resignation, of quiet acceptance surrounding him.

“I believe
anger
would be the wrong word.” Ivan's lips quirked with a hint of mockery. “I would say instead, I was a bit put out with her. You see, she did what no one else has been able to do. She kept her secrets hidden from me. No matter my suspicions that the child existed, I could not prove it. I was a bit … perturbed.”

That sounded more like Ivan.

“She was good.” Pride filled Crowe. He couldn't help it. He hated that she'd done it, that the need had been there.

“She is a woman to be extremely proud of,” Ivan said nodding. “No training. She is no agent, no officer, she is a woman of ultimate strengths and feminine weaknesses. She is a woman to always have the greatest pride in, my friend. You are very lucky.”

There was a hint of sadness in his friend's eyes, Crowe thought. A shadow of a hunger, or perhaps a fear that flickered there for a second.

“Lucky is an understatement,” he replied.

“I will begin the preparations of removing security now.” Ivan turned away.

He paused again, but this time he didn't turn to meet Crowe's gaze.

“We have a problem,” he said, shoulders tense.

“Of what sort?”

The line of Ivan's jaw tensed. “I am considering removing one of the men from the home office and sending him to the field instead.”

Crowe's brow arched.

Hell, he knew what was coming.

“Rory?” he asked.

Ivan turned back slowly. “Were you aware of the situation?” Anger flashed in his eyes now.

“Wrong move, my friend,” Crowe sighed. “But I won't fight you over it. I wouldn't appreciate your interference. Though, I need to point out”—Crowe shrugged—“you
would
interfere.”

“Perhaps now, I will not,” Ivan's voice was a rasp of anger now. “He will be leaving for Europe in two days' time. A request for security has come from a contact I have there. His team will be heading out as soon as possible.”

Crowe frowned at that information. “His family helped us here, Ivan,” he felt the need to point out. “His brother and uncle supplied immeasurable intel, not to mention the backup their friends gave us. Don't send Rory out to die.”

Fire flashed in Ivan's eyes. “No matter the rumors of my blackened soul, Crowe, I would not send him to die.”

With that, the other man stalked across the foyer and up the stairs, his steps heavier than normal.

“Problems?” Amelia stepped from the kitchen, moving to his side as Crowe pulled her into his embrace.

God, she felt good against him. She felt like he'd finally come home.

“He's the father of a twenty-one-year-old daughter who's interested in a man he feels is wrong for her,” he sighed.

“Ouch,” she whispered.

“Yep. Ouch.” He chuckled.

Wrapping both arms around her, he pulled her closer, his lips lowering to her ear in a heated caress.

“Shall we let your parents watch Kimmy for a bit?” he suggested. “You and I could slip away, maybe sin a little.”

“Sin a little, huh?” She softened against him, her breath becoming heavier, her heart racing against him. Crowe was a second from the kiss he'd been aching for all morning.

“Oh please!” Childish disgust had them jerking back quickly.

Turning to his daughter, Crowe let his eyes narrow in mock warning until he saw the complete vulnerability that filled her face. Something Amelia saw as well if the tension in her body was any indication.

“Kimmy?” Soft, gentle, Amelia's voice held all the soul-deep love she had for her daughter. “Did you need something, baby?”

“Yes, I do.” She nodded hesitantly. “Mommy, I want to go home.”

For a second, Crowe felt his world collapse.

“France?” Confusion filled Amelia. “You said you didn't like France, baby.”

Kimmy was shaking her head quickly, her eyes moving to Crowe then. “You said we would go to Daddy's home, in the mountains,” she said softly. “Where the wolf and her puppies are. Where his big house is buried in the mountain. I want to go home, Mommy. I've just always wanted to go home.”

Amelia lifted her hand to her lips to hide their trembling before she could speak. “Baby, we need to discuss all this first.”

“Why?” Crowe and Kimmy asked the question at once, each of them turning to her.

Her eyes widened. A second later, a grin began tugging at her lips.

“Well, then I guess that's what we're doing…”

“I'm packed.” Pure excitement filled Kimmy's face and her rich amber-flecked brown eyes. “Grandma and Grandpa are all packed, too. Can we go now? Please, can we go?”

“Kimmy…” Amelia laughed, and Crowe could hear the gentle request for patience in her voice.

“I can't wait to take you and our daughter home,” he said softly, bending his head to her ear. “Let's take our sprite home, fairy-girl. Now.”

“Now?” Surprise, pleasure filled her expression as she turned to him. “Right now?”

“Pack a bag, fairy.” He grinned. “We're going home.”

Kimmy's whoops filled the air, drawing Thea, Ethan, Jack, and the rest of the team from the kitchen.

“We're going home, Grandma.” Kimmy flew to her grandparents, staring up at them in joy. “I'm going home.”

Turning, she ran back to her father, jumped into his arms, and gave him a hug that he swore weakened his knees.

His daughter.

Sweet God, his precious daughter.

Turning to his fairy-girl, Crowe found himself overwhelmed with the knowledge of what he would have been without her. The icy, unemotional killer who had taken out Stoner, who had killed for his nation, who had seen only what had to be done.

Until his Amelia, until she brought him what his soul had lacked, Crowe knew he would have died on the inside.

“Thank you,” he whispered.