Page 36 of Black Sheep

MM. Michael McCarthy.

FR. Finnan Rutherford.

So does, finally, the long-forgotten meeting that took place in our house in Connecticut with the army general. It’s too much of a coincidence to sidestep.

I recall Ronan’s barely suppressed excitement when he told us that General Courtland would be visiting Finnan from Washington. That the Rutherfords were about to strike the deal of a lifetime, which would make us richer than our wildest dreams.

The voice booms into my head as if the old General is standing next to me. Rutherford, as a father of sons myself, I commend you for a venerable crop of boys. I have three sons in the army.

In response, Finnan preened as he shook his hand, naked greed shining in his eyes. Thank you, sir.

Courtland nodded. No, thank you! Let’s get down to business. Then you can tell me which of your sons will be the first to honor our great country.

Finnan nods at Ronan to shut the door.

As he moved to do so, his gaze flicks to Toby, Bolton, and me, standing to attention just as he ordered. He looks at my brothers, sees the fear and respect he’s instilled in them from birth displayed in their gray eyes.

Then he looks at me.

I know my defiance is displayed clearly. So is my contempt. My shame.

I also see the exact moment Finnan decides that I will be the one. It was like witnessing a bolt of lightning scorch the earth. For weeks I tried to dispel the fear that look struck in me to no avail.

Perhaps a part of me suspected all along that something like this would happen—me standing in front of my CO, a man of honor, with my family name soiling my skin. Or worse.

My gaze meets Colonel Clarkson’s as he confirms my fears. I wouldn’t stake my life on it, but I swear I see sympathy in his eyes. “I have to ask if the Finnan Rutherford listed in the file is a relation of yours.”

Denial hovers on my tongue. I swallow it. “Yes. He’s my…father.”

Clarkson swears long and hard. “There’s no way to sugar coat it. There’s a shit storm headed your way, son. There are many things capable of being swept under rugs from here to Ulan Bator. But I get the feeling this isn’t going to be one of them.” He stares grimly at me before he nods. “Dismissed.”

The roaring stops by the time I make it to my bunk. Still fully dressed, I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

I’m back in my pit of hell. Only this time, it’s deeper. Darker. Stained with Crunch’s death. Yet another life cut far too short. Along with countless others whose faces will join in the perpetual haunting I now know I’ll never be free of. But now I know who’s responsible.

My father.

So I close my eyes. And I plot.

Chapter Nine

COUNTER PUNCH

What the fuck did you just say?” My voice bleeds pure ice.

The single pop that went off in my head a second ago may have been my imagination. Or it could have been my last connection with something human and salvageable tearing itself free.

Or, most likely, it could be that I’ve put my hand on her. I’m touching Cleo for the first time in eight years. I know in that moment that I’ve sealed my fate. Hell, who the fuck am I kidding? My fate was sealed a long time ago, my path set in concrete the moment her blue eyes sank into me that very first time.

All the same, my palm against her bare arm is incendiary. The punch to my gut is immediate. As is her audible gasp. A groan dares to rattle up from the depths of my being. I smother it and propel her to face me.

To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or attempt to pull away from my punishing hold. “He wants to talk about Taranahar,” she repeats. “That’s in Afghanistan, right? Is that where you—?”

With my thumb, I silence her, refusing to allow the smoothness of her velvet-soft lips to distract me. I bend low until her face is a dozen inches from mine. “I’m the only one asking the questions, sweetheart. What do you know about Taranahar?”

Her nostrils quiver with the breath she takes. “I…nothing. Finnan isn’t exactly great at sharing,” she says in a low, steady voice.

No, he’s good at taking. The deadliest of parasites, he doesn’t stop taking until there is nothing left.

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