Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,84
really can help.”
“No. You. Can’t,” Alex breathed, his anger so old and so deep, that to turn his back on it now felt like he was being disloyal to Gramps and Gram and his mom. He’d nursed his rage and contempt for too many years to simply turn the other cheek and let bygones be bygones.
“Not even if it helps?” Mel asked, almost plaintively. As if he cared. Which would be the first damned time in fuckin’ forever.
“How long were you in the Navy?” Alex bit out.
His old man blinked, then looked down. “I, ahh…”
Exactly, you bastard. Lie to me like you always have. It’s what you do. Alex waited for the half-truths that would surely come. But he wouldn’t wait long. He had a wife and children to fix dinner for. They couldn’t snack on turkey leftovers forever. And he needed to check in with Eric and Harley. He’d have to transition from fulltime manager of a successful enterprise to fulltime husband and father and… shit! To the caretaker of a lying son of a bitch he didn’t even like!
Mel’s chin tipped back up, and he stared Alex down, damned near eye to eye. “Not quite two years. Dishonorable discharge, but I guess you already know that.”
“I know everything about you.”
“Not about the Bráithreachas, you don’t. Listen, I’ve made a lot of mistakes, I know that. I’ll admit to every one of them, but give me a chance to help. One last chance.” He cast his gaze to the door closed to him. “Do it for them.”
Alex stood there outside his bedroom, his nostrils flared to detect the con, his heart frozen where all things Mel were concerned. But for the first time, he wondered if there wasn’t more to that fight between Gramps and Mel than he recalled. Nine-year-old grandsons who adored their hero-veteran-grandfathers were still just nine years old. By then Mel had racked up so many zeroes, it was hard to accept anything he said as true or decent. But if he’d really worked for Pops Delaney, some of his lies and cons made sense.
At last Alex asked, “What is it you think you can do for me?”
Mel shifted his bare feet and licked his bottom lip, then swallowed and licked it again. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, honest, but I heard you say something about Lucy Shade, and you didn’t sound too pleased when you said it. That wouldn’t be Lucy Delaney, Pops’ little girl, would it?”
“One and the same.”
“Well, damn. Umm, she’s a real piece of work. But I can get you in to see her.”
“I don’t just want to see her. I’ve got a rogue agent on her way to kill Miss Shade, Lucy Delaney, or whatever she’s son of a bitchin’ calling herself today. I need to know precisely where Delaney is, and how to get to her before all hell breaks loose. I want my crosshairs in the center of her forehead, Dad. Can you do that for me? Can you wrap her up in a bow and mail her to me for Christmas like you did all the paychecks you sent Mom, but that she never received?”
Even as he poured a lifetime of hurt and sarcasm into that poisonous attack, Alex knew he’d hit below the belt.
Mel’s Adam’s apple bobbed along with his head. “I can,” he muttered as he avoided the final question. “Yeah, I can do that. I can get you into the Black Rose. Trust me.”
Alex growled, wishing like hell he could trust his old man. But what then? Even if he believed all these new lies, should he dare travel all the way to Boston, only to put his TEAM at risk and be disappointed again? Christ, how many lies did it take before a son truly stopped hoping and believing?! Apparently one Goddamned more.
“My private helo’s on standby,” he told his father with contempt. “If you’re lying… If any of my TEAM suffers because of you, so help me God, I’ll push you out of that helo and into the Atlantic on the flight home.”
Damned if Mel didn’t brighten at the threat. “Well, good. Then let’s get going.”
Alex held his breath, fully expecting to be called a worthless little runt, or something just as mean and belittling. But the insult didn’t come. Mel’s blue, blue eyes stared back at him. There were no fine tremors to his fingers like there’d been at the doctor’s office. His hands were steady. Could anything he’d just said be true?