The Return of Connor Mansfield

Darby hurried into the breakfast area from the kitchen, frowning. “Hunter, I told you not to say anything!”

Hunter raised his palms, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t—” He stopped suddenly, his face going slack as he groaned. “Oh, wait.” He winced and sent Connor a guilty grimace. “I texted her earlier.” He looked to Darby. “After you got that call from the doctor’s office about the DNA test results.”

Darby’s shoulders sagged, and Connor blew out a frustrated breath. His mother pulled back from her embrace and gave him a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? What’s going on?”

“Uh, Savannah, honey.” Darby pulled back the girl’s chair and lifted her down “Why don’t you take Uncle Hunter to your room for a while?”

“Mom texted me this morning wanting to know when Savannah would be going home,” Hunter said, still explaining. “I told her you’d left. Told her about the call. I—”

Outside, car doors slammed, and Connor tensed.

“That’ll be your father and Grant,” his mother said. “I called the office on my way here, and they said they’d be right behind me.”

“Julia? Darby?” his father called as he and Grant hurried through the back door. They stopped and scanned the room full of faces, their expressions eager. “Where is he?”

In seconds, the volume in the kitchen rose exponentially as everyone began talking on top of each other and emotions swelled.

“Connor! We thought you were dead!”

“I don’t understand. Where have you been?”

“Mommy, can Uncle Connuh play with me? Mommy?”

“Hunter, please take Savannah to her room.”

“Honest, Con, I texted her before I knew—”

From the living room, Raleigh and Jones appeared, clearly having heard the commotion. “What the hell?” Raleigh growled. “Sam, who are these people? And what part of ‘you can’t tell anyone you’re alive’ did you interpret as ‘have a welcome home party?’”

Her eyes wide, Savannah shrank behind Darby as the two large men in scrubs, strangers to her, stormed in and barked at him. The fright in his daughter’s eyes was the last straw.

Stan Mansfield, Connor’s father, stepped toward Raleigh, his shoulders back. “I could ask the same of you. Who—?”

Connor put his thumb and finger in his mouth and whistled for quiet. “That’s enough!”

Everyone settled down, facing him with startled looks.

“You’re scaring Savannah,” he said, casting a warning gaze to the offending adults. Moving to kneel by his daughter, he tugged lightly on her sleeve. “Hey, sweetie, sorry about all that noise. I believe your mom asked you to take Uncle Hunter to your room for a while. Why don’t you do that now?”

Savannah bobbed her head, then asked softly, “Will you play with me, too?”

He smiled and stroked her arm. “I would love to. Let me finish talking to the grown-ups, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Okay?”

Hunter took his cue and lifted Savannah into his arms, tickling her side. “Come on, princess, I was hoping I’d get the chance to kick your tail at Chutes and Ladders.”

“No, I’m gonna kick your tail!” Savannah said with a grin.

Darby sent him a grudging half smile. “Thanks.”

He pushed to his feet and squeezed Darby’s arm. “We’re on the same side.”

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” his mother asked, her voice cracking. “Connor, who are these men? Why did they call you Sam? Where have you been all these years?” She paused and wiped at her eyes, then in a lower voice asked, “Are you in the CIA?”

Connor chuckled as he faced his mother. “No, Mom. Not the CIA.” He took a deep breath. “I’m in WitSec.”

Connor spent the next hour explaining his situation to his family, despite the marshals’ objections. “They might as well hear the truth,” he’d countered. “They know I’m alive, and the best way to reign in the situation now is to lay out the stakes, give them the background and our reasoning for staging my death.”

When Jones scowled and paced the kitchen, mumbling sourly, Connor had quipped, “Unless you’d rather erase their memory with one of those Men in Black flashy sticks. You have one of those, right?”

“Can I tell Tracy?” Grant asked. “I don’t like the idea of keeping something this big from my wife. She won’t say anything.”

“And what about my family? My mom and sisters?” Darby asked. “They should know. Especially since Savannah knows him as her uncle Connor. If he does end up donating his marrow, I’d think it would come out.”

“No!” Raleigh said with a huff of frustration. “We need to shut this down. It doesn’t go any further than this room.” He pointed at Connor, adding, “And you should have kept to your cover with the little girl. Big mistake telling her your name was Connor.”

“I told her that because she recognized the family resemblance. She knew I was a Mansfield brother before I opened my mouth.” Connor tapped his fist on the kitchen table and divided a look between the marshals. “Here’s the deal. Half of the family knows I’m alive. Protecting my cover made sense when we thought I could slip into town, meet with the doctor and get out again without anyone knowing the truth. I didn’t consider the fact that my DNA test would rat me out or that the doctor’s office would call Darby about the discrepancy in what she’d told them about Savannah’s father.”

He rubbed a hand along his cheek, weighing his options, and when he encountered the prosthetic beard, he groaned and peeled it off. “At this point, I can’t see any point in keeping up the charade. I say let Grant tell Tracy. Let Darby tell her family. They need to be aware of the potential threat so that they can take necessary precautions. And as Darby pointed out, if I do donate my marrow to Savannah, it will be harder to keep my identity secret.”

“You really think these men, the Gale brothers, will come after you?” his mother asked.

“I do. They think I betrayed them.”

“They have a history of going after people they feel have crossed them,” Jones said, his jaw tense. “We have to take the threats they made against Sam seriously.”

“His name is Connor,” Darby said with a defiant glare.

“Not anymore,” Jones countered.

“All right.” Connor raised his hands, signaling for a ceasefire. “I think, despite our intentions, the horse is out of the barn as far as my cover goes.”

“He’s right.” Jones gave Raleigh a level look, then turned an accusing glare at Darby.

She recognized the accusation and sat taller, stiffening, her expression defensive as she sputtered, “I didn’t—the doctor’s office called me and—how was I to know—”

“It’s not your fault. No one’s blaming you.” Connor sent Jones a hard look and put a supportive hand on Darby’s arm, which she jerked away. “But you raise another good point. Savannah’s doctor needs to know the truth. My biological connection to Savannah could be relevant to Savannah’s care. Also however many members of her staff as needed to contain the speculation already circulating in the office.”

Raleigh rocked back on two legs of his chair, scrubbing both hands over his face. “God bless America, Sam. What happened to staying in town only long enough to talk to the kid’s doctor then getting the hell outta Dodge? You can make the donation from Dallas, can’t you?”

All eyes swung toward Connor, and his pulse rose, torn between what he knew would keep his family safe and his selfish desire to stay and get to know his daughter, patch things up with Darby, spend precious time with his family.

“Yeah, the doctor said I could donate from Dallas, if I proved a close enough match.” A stir of reaction interrupted him, sighs of disappointment from his parents, grunts of satisfaction from the agents. He looked to Darby, needing some measure of where her heart was. Her jaw was tight with stubborn anger, but her green eyes were full of pain and discontent. “But she also said the ideal arrangement, the way she preferred, was for me to be here.”

As he repeated the doctor’s words, a certainty washed through him, a resolve that settled the debate warring inside him. “I want only the best for Savannah. If I can be my daughter’s donor, I’ll do it from here. Even if it is only marginally better logistically, I want ideal circumstances for my little girl.”

Darby’s expression was conflicted. The struggle between gratitude and resentment, fear and hope, grief and joy was plain in her eyes. Connor’s chest ached for the hurt he’d caused her, the doubts and bitterness he was responsible for.

Raleigh shook his head, clearly unhappy with Connor’s decision. “Do you understand what you’re risking?”

“Of course I do. And I’m not saying I plan to wave a red flag in front of Gale Industries. I’ll lay low, take precautions, continue wearing a disguise in public.” He flicked his hand toward the fake beard in front of him. “Whatever it takes.” He leaned forward, drilling Raleigh with a hard stare and jabbing his finger into the table. “But I need you to protect my family. I need you to make sure the Gales don’t get anywhere near Darby or Savannah or any of the people I love.”

“Our job is to protect you,” Raleigh countered. “And the best way to do that is to get you back to Dallas and try to minimize the exposure from the cracks in your cover.”

“I’m not leaving Lagniappe until I’ve done all I can to save Savannah.” He hoped his tone conveyed his determination on that point. “Maybe that will be tomorrow, if I’m not a close enough match to her. But if I am, I need to know you’ll do everything in your power to keep my family safe while I’m here.”

Jones drummed the table with his thumb. “We’re only two people, man. We’re good, but we’re not superhuman. We’ll do what we can to minimize the threat to your family, but we can’t be everywhere. You’re still our priority, the witness in WitSec, and where our efforts have to be focused.”

“So bring in more men. Or I’ll hire private security.”

Jones raised a hand. “No. No outside hires.” He glanced briefly to Raleigh for some silent confirmation or perhaps giving him a chance to object. “We’ll see about getting a little backup, but the department is stretched kinda thin these days.”

Connor’s father, Stan, had been taking in the conversation from the opposite end of the table, his arms folded over his chest and his intense scrutiny shifting from one speaker to another. Now he pushed his chair back and stood. “Bring in extra men if you want, but don’t underestimate the ability of the Mansfield men to protect our own.”

Grant had been leaning against the kitchen counter. Now he stepped forward, nodding. “That’s right. Every one of the men in this family is trained in firearms and licensed to carry concealed. Dad spent fifteen years in the army, and Hunter spent five years in the reserves. I’ve been hunting since I was twelve.”

“What’s the saying?” Connor’s mother asked. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

The marshals exchanged another unreadable look.

“Well, being alert to problems will certainly help, but these men are professional killers, not common street thugs.” Raleigh rose from the table. “Let me make a few calls, see about getting an extra team down here.”

“Then we should head back to the hotel soon,” Jones said, sending Connor a direct look.

“A hotel?” Julia said, her tone full of dismay, as if Jones had suggested they were sleeping in the gutter. “But this is Connor’s home. He should stay with his family.”

“We have to be with him in order to guard him.” Jones raised one eyebrow as if driving home his point.

“And we have to be with my family in order to keep them safe.” Connor sent the marshal a challenging stare. “I’m staying here. With Darby and my daughter.”

Darby’s head jerked up, and her gaze clashed with his. “You’re what?”

“I want to know you’re safe. If somehow word of my return has leaked beyond this family and the doctor’s office, which is a real possibility, I don’t want you here alone. What better protection than two U.S. Marshals and the man who’d die defending you?”

Darby’s cheeks paled, and her eyes widened.

Connor reached for her, and stroking her chin, he whispered, “Don’t look so surprised, Dar. I already died once to protect you. I’d do it again, for real, if needed.”

“Oh, Connor,” his mother said, her voice choked. “Don’t say that! It’s bad luck!” Her hand fluttered to her chest where she rubbed the cross charm on her necklace.

Darby huffed an exasperated breath and flattened her hands on the table. “Looks like the decision’s made for me.” She pushed to her feet. “Marshals, you can stay in the guest room. The decor is a bit juvenile, since I had in mind having my nieces and nephews staying with me when I decorated it. But the twin beds are new and should be comfortable. You—” she faced Connor, a spark of ire lighting her jade gaze “—can sleep on the couch.”

Jones chuckled under his breath. Raleigh opened his mouth as if to protest, then snapped it closed. Scowling, he jammed his hands in his pockets and jangled his keys. “I feel a FUBAR in the making.”

Darby pushed her chair back under the table and headed for the door. “I’m going to check on Savannah.”

Savannah. Thoughts of his sweet daughter lifted Connor’s spirits, which had taken a dive while discussing the serious security threats to his family. As concerned as he was by the unplanned turn of events, he couldn’t regret having time, brief as it may be, with his daughter. And no matter how angry Darby was with him for his past choices, this unexpected time with her gave him a chance, however remote, of healing the wounds he’d caused her.

Chapter 7

James Gale positioned his hands over his son’s, adjusting the boy’s grip on the golf club. “Like this. Keep your wrists straight.”

Billy did as instructed, then tipped his head back to look up at his father. “Like this?”

James grinned proudly and stepped back. “Perfect. Now swing away! In the hole!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Gale?”

James spun to face the man who approached, his jaw tight. “Not now!” He turned back to watch Billy’s swing.

The chubby man he recognized as one of his brother’s thugs persisted. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but—”

Billy glanced up from his stance with a startled look, interrupting his address of the ball.

James lifted a hand. “I’m sorry, Billy. Hold on.” He pivoted to the interloper, his body taut. “Do you not know how rude it is to disturb a golfer as he takes his swing?”

“I—”

“Did you not hear me say, Not now?”

“It’s important.”

“So is my time with my son.”

“But—”

James pointed a finger at the man and shot him a glare that made lesser men shiver in their shoes. “Silence. My son is taking his swing.” He turned back to Billy. “Go ahead. Firm wrists.”

With an uneasy glance to the chubby man behind his father, Billy addressed the ball again, swung and hit a beautiful drive that dropped onto the putting green and rolled within five feet of the hole.

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