Dangerous Relations. Carol J. PostЧитать онлайн книгу.
she stepped from the kitchen, Addy was watching her, eyes filled with questions.
“Ryan called me while I was at Safeway.”
Addy furrowed her brow. “You’re not letting him in, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
When she swung open the door, Ryan stood on the landing, holding a small plush teddy bear and flashing her a smile warm enough to melt the polar ice caps.
It didn’t faze her. “Keep your gifts. As long as I’m alive, no McConnell is going to raise my niece.”
The smile fell from his face. A second later, she slammed the door with a boom that reverberated through the apartment.
Addy gave her a sharp nod. “Ryan’s a good-looking guy. He has a way with women. But you can’t trust him. The fact that he wants Chloe makes him our enemy.”
Shelby pursed her lips and headed for the kitchen. Soon, the adrenaline that had pumped through her system dissipated, leaving her more zapped.
At least she didn’t have to cook for Ryan. Once dinner was over, she could chill. Maybe put on a movie, something she could lose herself in.
No, she was an aunt now, and this was her first opportunity to begin bonding with her niece. How did one connect with a fifteen-month-old? She had no clue. When Lauren had left home and Shelby became responsible for Mia’s care, Mia had been six. Six-year-olds played dolls, dress-up, games, make-believe. Fifteen-month-olds did none of that.
Ryan would know what to do with her. He had the job of uncle down pat. He also wanted to protect them. He’d proved that last night. Having him coming around on a regular basis would provide a wonderful sense of security.
But Addy was right. Ryan was their enemy. And she’d best remember that.
Chivalrous acts, good looks and warm smiles aside.
* * *
Ryan stared at the closed door, feeling as if he’d been beamed into the twilight zone. He’d just spoken with her a little over an hour ago. How could things have gone that far south so quickly?
He raised a fist to knock again, then lowered his hand. Whatever had happened, she wasn’t going to be any more receptive now than she’d been a few seconds ago.
He headed back down the stairs, reviewing their phone conversation. He’d asked if he could visit Chloe, and aside from a soft sigh, Shelby hadn’t voiced any objections.
Why would she tell him he could come, then turn him away after he’d driven all the way from the base in Bremerton? Not just turn him away, but slam the door in his face, as if he’d done something to offend her.
Mia had enjoyed creating drama. He’d never been on the receiving end of her outbursts, but he’d witnessed several temper tantrums involving other people. Maybe it was a family trait.
Based on their brief interactions, that wasn’t how he would have pegged Shelby. Of course, he’d been wrong about people before. Especially women. Sometimes a pretty face could make a man’s brain disengage. Though he liked to think otherwise, he probably wasn’t any more immune than the next guy.
He cranked the Equinox and backed from the space. Now what?
He’d proceed the same as before and work on getting custody. Maybe not sole custody, but at least joint. His chances would be as good as hers.
Except his family was likely under investigation for Chloe’s mother’s murder. That would be a huge strike against him. His best option was still playing nice with Shelby. But how was he supposed to do that when she wouldn’t even talk to him?
He headed down Bendigo toward the interstate. That had been a wasted trip. The last thing he’d expected was being turned away at the door. Her words still rang in his ears—no McConnell is ever going to raise my niece.
Since his brother was in jail, Ryan was the only McConnell in line for custody. Unless...
His jaw sagged. His father had paid Shelby a visit. He was sure of it. Mia had mentioned bringing Chloe to visit his father and stepmother at their estate. Maybe there would be two other players in the custody battle.
Now Shelby’s reaction made sense. Unless his old man had changed a lot in the past twenty years, he didn’t play nice with anybody.
Ryan floored the accelerator, and the Equinox sped up the I-90 ramp. His only shot at talking to his father would be overtaking him before he reached the estate. Wrought iron wrapped the entire grounds, with an electronic gate guarding the long, curved drive. It was a gate that would never open for him. His father had made that clear when Ryan had announced his intentions to join the Navy instead of working in the family business.
Authorities had investigated the McConnell empire several times over the years, trying to find a connection to the Mafia. There wasn’t any. Robert McConnell led a homegrown organized-crime outfit. And he was smart enough to always cover his tracks. That had been the case when Ryan lived at home and, based on what he’d read over the past twenty years, was still the case.
Ryan clicked on his signal and slid the SUV between two cars traveling in the far-left lane. At the tail end of rush hour, the crush of traffic was beginning to lessen, which would make catching up with his father easier.
He didn’t even know what the man drove. Ryan hadn’t seen him since he’d walked away twenty years ago. His father had pulled out every weapon in his arsenal to convince Ryan to stay. First, he’d used the promise of wealth and power. Then guilt. Then came the threats. Ryan had known enough about his father’s business to be afraid. For months afterward, he’d looked over his shoulder, half convinced that someday the world would read about him in the news, the victim of an unsolved murder or apparent suicide.
Instead of acting on those threats, the old man had severed that father-son relationship. Even in the almost two-year time span since Ryan returned to the area, their paths hadn’t crossed. Ryan made frequent trips into Seattle, but in a city with a population of more than seven hundred thousand, it was easy to avoid one another.
By the time he exited I-90, he hadn’t approached any vehicles likely to contain his father. Visibility wasn’t great. It was only six thirty, but the sun had set some time ago. Daylight saving time was still a few days away. Whatever the man was driving, it would be flashy and new. And expensive. He’d always appreciated nice things and enjoyed displaying them for others.
Several minutes later, Ryan made a left onto Lake Washington Boulevard. A vehicle traveled some distance ahead of him—something sleek and low to the ground, based on the taillight configuration.
He stepped on the gas and drew closer. It was a yellow Lamborghini Aventador. A ride fit for his father’s tastes.
He held back through two more turns. When the vehicle’s brake lights lit up again, Ryan tightened his hands on the wheel. His family’s estate was just ahead. The signal clicked on, and Ryan backed off a little more. No sense alerting his father yet.
The sports car turned, and the wrought-iron gate a short distance off the road swung open slowly. Ryan didn’t execute his own turn until the Lamborghini had almost cleared it. Then he stomped on the accelerator again, barely making it through before the gate closed.
The Lamborghini’s brake lights came on, and it jerked to a halt. Seconds ticked past. His father didn’t move. He’d probably already alerted security. And he was likely retrieving his own weapon. He didn’t go anywhere unarmed.
Soon headlights moved toward them from the direction of the house. The oncoming vehicle stopped, and one of his father’s security people exited, weapon drawn.
Ryan stepped from the Equinox, hands raised to show he was unarmed. “I’m Ryan McConnell.” The man wouldn’t shoot without a directive. And if the senior McConnell wanted him dead, it would have happened a long time ago. “I’m here to talk to my father.”
Ryan continued