#1-3--The O’Connells Read online

  “Wish I could,” he said. “Came over because of the damn noise, a stereo, and now you’re here. She called the cops?” He couldn’t figure out when, maybe while she was avoiding answering the door.

  “What’s going on here?” said a woman emerging from the Jeep. She had dark hair and wore a baggy sweatshirt and a jean skirt that stopped at her knees, and she was carrying what looked like a grocery bag. Damn, she looked familiar. “Alison, what’s going on? What did you do now?”

  She was pretty—no, cute, slender. She had one of those faces that wouldn’t get lost in a crowd, and he saw the spark of recognition when she saw him. Nothing friendly. He had to rack his brain to figure out where he knew her from.

  “I’m Ryan O’Connell. I live next door,” he said, and he actually held out his hand to the woman, who was now on the first step. For a second, he didn’t think she’d shake it, but she did. Small hand, firm grip—and untrusting eyes. She said nothing, and he didn’t miss the glance to his brother.

  “Your music was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think,” he explained. “I came over here because it’s been a nightly thing. I take it you’re one of her parents?”

  The woman pulled her hand from his and flicked her gaze to the teen in the doorway. Yup, definitely the angry mom look. “I’m so sorry,” she said, then looked to the teen. “I told you no loud music! I apologize and can assure you it won’t happen again.”

  “Well, I’m not here about the noise,” Marcus said. “This young lady called 911 and said there was an intruder trying to break in, that she was home alone… We were just trying to get to the bottom of it when you showed up. I take it you live here?”

  Ryan moved back and leaned against the post to watch.

  “Yes, sorry. I’m Jennifer—Jenny, and this is my daughter, Alison.” She handed off the paper bag to her daughter. “You called the cops? What were you thinking?” Her voice squeaked, and he wondered whether this was something her daughter did often.

  He glanced to his brother, who only shook his head. He wondered how many times Marcus had to deal with this kind of thing.

  “He was being a dick, pounding on the door,” Alison said. She didn’t even try to pretend that she hadn’t just made up a big lie. Ryan had heard of neighbors from hell, but he’d never expected to have one. He stood with his arms crossed over his naked chest, still trying to think of how he knew Jenny.

  “You don’t call the cops!” she said. “Seriously, Alison… Go unpack the groceries.”

  “Just hang on a second, here,” Marcus said. “Calling 911 for kicks is a serious offense. At the same time, if I’m called out here because of noise, for example, your music cranked too loud, I’m going to fine you, because that’s a problem.”

  Alison was holding the grocery bag and dragged her gaze to her mom, who appeared barely old enough to have a teenage daughter.

  “I can assure you it won’t happen again,” Jenny said. “I will have a talk with my daughter and see to it that she behaves herself.”

  He noted the edge in her voice. That was the same tone his own mom had used on each of them when they misbehaved, pulling them aside alone at home for a talk they didn’t want to have. There was fun mom, and then there was angry grounded-for-life mom. He could see this teen was getting the latter.

  “So, then, the music…” he started.

  Jenny lifted her hands, shaking her head. “It will stop, like right now, and I’m sorry for the trouble my daughter caused.”

  Alison had already walked away, seeming completely unaffected at having a cop call her out. She was trouble with a capital T. He wondered if he should also give Jenny a heads-up on how her daughter had been toying with him and offering herself up to him.

  “Is that all?” she asked. So much for any friendly neighborly talk. He was still trying to figure out how they knew each other and when they’d met.

  “Guess so,” he said. “Music’s off, so the neighborhood should be happy. Oh, and you may want to keep your daughter on a short leash,” he added as he stepped away from the post and down the steps. He stopped at the bottom, taking in the withering look his brother dragged over to him. Finally, Ryan said, “I’m trying to place it. Seems we’ve met. You look familiar.”

  She actually made a rude noise and crossed her arms. “So you don’t remember?” she said.

  He could feel his brother taking him in. “I’m great with faces, but I meet a lot of people in my line of work as a ranger. We meet on the trail or someplace in town or something?”

  She seemed unimpressed. “Or something,” she replied, and the way she said it oozed with sarcasm. She gestured to him. “Is this how you always dress, half naked, flaunting that perfect chest?”

  Damn, her eyes were the same dark brown as the girl’s, and he didn’t miss the anger simmering below the surface.

  “Just got out of the shower, and this is all I managed to pull on,” he said. “Word of advice, Jenny: We’re neighbors. It would be better to get along, and so far, you’re not off to a great start.”

  He just couldn’t help himself, and he wasn’t sure what the amused grin on his brother’s face was about as Jenny narrowed her eyes, lifted her middle finger to him, and then stepped into the house and shut the door.

  “Wow, you really have a way with women,” Marcus said with a laugh.

  Ryan just stepped down and took in the house a nice old woman had once lived in. God damn it, did he miss her. “It’s a gift,” he said, then lifted his hand to his brother as he cut across the grass, still barefoot. “See you at Mom’s tomorrow.”

  “Hey, Ryan, word of advice?” Marcus called out.

  He turned, resting his hands on his hips, not saying anything, knowing his brother had something on his mind.

  “Next time, call me first,” Marcus said. “Seen this before, and it ain’t pretty. Remember, your territory’s the woods, the park. Mine is this town. If a young girl calls the cops and makes up a story, a stupid schmuck could walk right into it and land in jail. It never ends well for the stupid schmuck, so don’t let that be you.” Marcus let out a sigh and shook his head. “She’s trouble,” he added. “Steer clear—and it’s your turn to bring the beer tomorrow.”

  Ryan watched as his brother climbed into his cruiser, flicked off the still flashing lights, and drove away. He wasn’t sure what made him look back to the house next door, but when he did, he was positive the girl was watching him from the upstairs window.

  Chapter Two

  “So what you’re saying is this isn’t your vehicle, and you didn’t know you had to have a license to operate it in the park, and insurance, and actual tires?” Ryan said as he took in the two good ol’ boys who had been ripping around the park in a souped-up pickup.

  They had said their names were Bob and Darren. Bob shrugged, while Darren just stared at him with dark eyes as if still trying to figure out what his story was.

  “Words, please, or do you not speak English?” Ryan said. “Again, I’m going to ask you one more time, any weapons on you or in the truck?”

  “It’s not as if it’s a real road or anything,” Darren said. He had to be at least five inches shorter than Bob. “Got a pistol, is all, for protection. I’m entitled to have a gun.”

  “And where is this pistol? You have it on you, or is it in the truck?” Ryan rested his hand on his heavy belt, feeling his holstered revolver. He’d lost count of the times he’d felt the need to reach for it. He was starting to get that feeling again.

  “Glovebox, right? That’s where you said you shoved it?” said Bob, who seemed unusually nervous.

  Darren just stared at him and nodded. “Yeah, that’s right, just a harmless little pistol.”

  “You two weren’t also shooting out the window, were you? Or do you need a minute to change your story? Some hikers called in about a tireless truck screeching through the park, firing off a gun. I want both of you to lift your shirts and turn around right now,” he snapped and waited, not expecting an answer.r />
  Darren lifted his grimy white T-shirt, and Bob followed. Ryan scanned their white bellies and gestured for them to turn around, his other hand resting on the butt of his gun. He took in the pistol shoved in the back of Darren’s baggy jeans and reached for it, pulling it out.

  “Okay, link your fingers together, hands on your heads. Lie to me again and I’ll cuff both of you. You forget that you were carrying a gun, or were you planning on pulling it on me? If I search your truck, what am I going to find?”

  “No, sir,” said Darren, shaking his head. His thick arms were sunburned, with a scratch on one forearm. “Listen, I just forgot it was there, is all. Thought I’d stuck it in the glovebox. Simple mistake. And it’s just junk in the truck, not mine. Borrowed the truck from a friend, so don’t know what all he’s got in there.”

  Ryan checked the gun, seeing it was loaded with one in the chamber, and he didn’t miss the scent of gunpowder, a sign it had recently been fired. He emptied the bullets and tucked the gun in his waistband at the small of his back, feeling the midday sun beating down on him. Beads of sweat dripped down his spine, and his damp short-sleeved dark shirt clung to his back. “Right now, I want you both to pull your wallets from your back pockets and show me your IDs.” He didn’t pull off his shades as both did so.

  “Told ya, though, I forgot my license,” Darren said. He was missing one of his lower front teeth. He appeared to be the older one, early thirties, whereas Bob was tall and lanky, mid-twenties, give or take. Ryan didn’t buy anything they were saying. It was just that feeling he got when he knew someone was hiding something.

  “Right, and you think I haven’t heard that before? Open up your wallets. I want to see something with your names on it.”

  They both gave an awkward shuffle, and he took in the truck. Both doors were open, but he had blocked their exit by parking his four by four across the trail. When people saw him standing in front of his rig, cutting off their escape, it was always the same. These assholes figured they could do whatever they wanted in his park, believing it was their personal playland. Only once had he had to pull his gun on a driver to get him to stop.

  Darren opened his wallet first, and Ryan could see the cards that filled the slots. He pulled out a Montana license, expired, with the name Dirk Hoskins. Sweat lined his brow. His dark greasy hair hung to his shoulders, and it was thin and balding in front.

  “Look, we weren’t causing no harm,” Bob said. “It’s not as if it’s a real road, anyway. Just having some fun and blowing off steam, you know.” He actually laughed as he said it, then pulled out an Idaho license with the name Ronald Steele.

  Ryan glanced at the photos. Just the bugged-out expression in both showed the resemblance. “Hate to tell both of you this, but driving an unregistered vehicle in the park isn’t allowed. And your way of blowing off steam could have killed someone. Let me guess: You forgot your license was in your wallet? One valid, one expired. You’re both in deep shit.”

  Darren, or rather Dirk, shrugged.

  “So explain this to me, Bob and Darren. Why are your names listed on these licenses as Dirk and Ronald?”

  Ronald swallowed.

  “So which is it, is the license fake, or did you just lie to a federal officer and give me a false name?” Ryan said. The expressions on their faces said everything. “Okay, let me help you out here before you dig yourselves in any deeper. I’m going to run your licenses, and the best option is to be straight with me, because if you lie to me one more time, you’ll find yourselves cuffed and tossed in the back, then behind bars. I can come up with a dozen charges just off the top of my head.”

  “Okay, okay, didn’t mean to lie, sir,” Dirk said. “We weren’t hurting nobody, just having some fun. It’s just the park, the trails, not a real road…”

  “Hate to tell you this, but you can get in a shitload of trouble for driving in a park, and you do need to have a properly registered vehicle, with papers and insurance and a valid driver’s license. Then there’s shooting off a gun in a national park…” He took in both the men, wondering if they’d keep arguing.

  “Well, sir, I’m sorry,” Dirk said. “We didn’t realize. Can you let us off with a warning?”

  He just took in the men, seeing another two who fit on his asshole scale, then shook his head, opened up the back of his four by four, and gestured inside. “Nope. Climb in. I’ll give you a ride back to the station, where I’ll write up your fines. The truck will be towed in, and you can tell your story again before a judge.”

  It was after five when he pulled up in front of the one-story bungalow where he’d grown up. Looked like some of his siblings were already there. He parked behind Owen’s white cargo van, emblazoned with the logo of his plumbing company. Suzanne’s work-in-progress red 1970 MGB was in the driveway behind Karen’s practical four-door Honda. He stepped out of his rig just as Marcus pulled up in his cruiser, and he reached for two cases of beer in his back seat, one the stout his sister preferred and the other the light ale he and Marcus always went for.

  “Heard you nailed those assholes ripping up the park,” Marcus said. “Aren’t they the same ones who’ve been causing all that ruckus out there over the last few weeks?”

  Ryan handed off one of the cases and shoved the back door closed. “Not sure, maybe. Should’ve seen their faces when they saw me standing there. Damn near crapped their pants. It was fantastic.” He laughed. “But at least now they’ll think twice about heading into the park.”

  Especially considering the fines he’d slapped on them. Ryan and Marcus strode across the lawn, which had been littered with bikes more than a decade ago. His mom had just painted the front door a vibrant red.

  “Just another asshole, right?” Marcus added.

  Ryan wanted to roll his eyes, but he grunted instead as his brother headed first through the door. He could smell garlic from the roast beef he knew their mom was cooking. The game was on TV, and voices came from the kitchen as he took in his image in the mirrored coat closet that greeted everyone the minute they walked through the door. Yeah, his ranger’s uniform was dusty, and his mom would tell him he needed a haircut.

  He wiped his black boots and went down the two steps into the front room, seeing his brother Luke on the sofa, his long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. His blue O’Connell eyes were filled with an odd watchfulness that followed Ryan’s every move.

  “Toss me one of those beers,” Luke said.

  Ryan rested the case on the sofa table, ripped open the top, and lifted out two of the cold ales. He handed one to Luke, who always sat in the same spot when they visited his mom: the corner of the sofa in the corner of the room, with the wall behind him.

  “You go out today?” Ryan asked. Luke was home for nine days on leave from the military—special forces, he knew, but where exactly he and his team had been, he didn’t. That was what they didn’t talk about.

  “Yup. Montana State is behind.” Luke gestured to the TV and downed half the beer. Okay, so they were still at that point. It would be another day or two before Luke would get off the sofa and have a real conversation.

  “Hey, heard you had some trouble last night,” his mom said as she strode out of the kitchen in light blue capris and a blue tank top. She was still slim and stylish, with short dark hair. She set a stack of plates on the dining room table.

  “Oh, and who did you hear that from?” Ryan said. It was a ridiculous question, considering Marcus just couldn’t help himself from sharing everything with their mom. He always had.

  “Trouble? You, Ryan?” Suzanne added with a ton of sarcasm. She was in baggy shorts and an oversized T-shirt, carrying one of the stouts he’d brought.

  “Just a problem with a neighbor that should now be rectified,” he said—that was, if the mom actually followed through and kept her daughter in line. But there was something about her that seemed so familiar. The thought had popped into his head a time or two already that day, and he’d racked his brain to figure out where they’d
met.

  “That’s not what Marcus said,” Suzanne called out from behind him, where she now sat beside Luke on the sofa. He turned to see she had her bare feet up on the coffee table.

  “What the hell did Marcus say? Marcus, what the fuck did you tell everyone?”

  His mom lifted a brow before she walked back into the kitchen, and Suzanne’s lips twitched as she lifted the beer to take a swallow. She was always messing with him.

  “You talking about your new neighbors?” Marcus appeared, Karen behind him. She was the only one of them to inherit their mom’s shortness, standing at barely over five feet, wearing a gray sundress, her hair dyed vibrant red and pulled up into a messy bun.

  “Heard she’s hot,” Suzanne added.

  “And heard she comes with a kid who’s trouble.” Karen pointed her wineglass, likely filled with the same Chablis she always drank, toward Ryan as she sauntered across the living room.

  “And he said you knew each other?” Owen strode in from the kitchen, his jeans torn at the knee and faded T-shirt wrinkled.

  Their mom reappeared, setting a breadbasket in the middle of the table. She lifted a brow again, and Ryan dragged his gaze back over to Marcus, who was standing there with a big shit-eating grin as he lifted his beer. He really loved stirring things up.

  “Is there anything you can keep to yourself?” Ryan snapped.

  Marcus just shrugged. “What can I say, Ryan? You seem to attract trouble, drama, and…”

  “Difficult women,” Luke added, which had everyone looking at him. He was showing the first signs of emerging from his war headspace, which he’d been living in since arriving a few days earlier.

  “So where do you know her from?” Karen asked as she perched on the stool of the chair opposite Luke.

  Everyone gave him their undivided attention, and he lifted his beer, took a swallow, and breathed out before doing what dickheads did when they didn’t want to answer: He shrugged and said, “Can’t remember, but when I do, I’ll be sure not to tell Marcus.”