Operation Alpha Read online

  “But?”

  “I don’t know. Just seems like an experienced hiker would have... I don’t know, noticed something.”

  “Not everybody’s as eagle-eyed as you, Mr. I-could-track-a-fly-through-a-tornado.”

  He laughed. “Thanks. I think.”

  “Now what else is bothering you?”

  He was tempted to tell her that her dog was at it again, but he was afraid she’d just tell him to stop fighting and go with it. And that he would not do. Ever. He couldn’t risk it. Not again. He had no right.

  “Just trying to figure out why Oakley had such a conniption over Ria suggesting counseling.”

  “Some people are like that. They think it’s weakness. Or don’t believe it’s any use.”

  “My daddy used to say counseling might help you handle it, but you’re going to go through the grief no matter what, one way or another.”

  “Your daddy is a wise man,” Hayley said.

  Liam smiled. “He’s a tough ol’ bird, but he knows things.”

  When they’d disconnected, he sat for a moment, looking at Cutter. He knew he was imagining things, but something in the dog’s gaze reminded him of Ria’s quiet steadiness. The dog even tilted his head in the way she did when she was thinking. But he’d always done that. Hadn’t he?

  “Focus,” he reminded himself, for all the good it would do. Even knowing that sometimes the cases that seemed the most straightforward could get complicated fast. Complicated, and dangerous.

  “You need a distraction,” he said finally. “And,” he added ruefully, “so do I.”

  He changed clothes, trading jeans for sweatpants and his boots for running shoes. He didn’t do this often, just enough to keep his cardio and wind up, but this seemed like a good time to run himself—and his persistent companion—into quieter minds.

  “I’m no Brett Dunbar,” he told the dog, “but I’ll give you a couple of miles. You just leave me out of your plans, okay?”

  Cutter gave him a happy bark and his most innocent look.

  Liam didn’t buy it for an instant.

  Chapter 21

  “You can do better, Dylan. But you know that.”

  Ria watched her student dodge her gaze. He focused on the graded essay she’d handed back to him. While a B-wasn’t a horrible grade, it was less than his best, and she knew he knew it.

  “It read as if you were having trouble concentrating.”

  He shrugged.

  “Dylan—”

  “Look, I was thinking about other things, okay? Sorry.”

  “Like your brother?” she suggested gently, not taking issue with his sharp tone.

  The way his gaze darted back to her face told her she’d hit a nerve. Whether or not it was the one causing the problem, she didn’t know.

  “Your father seemed pretty angry last week. Is he over it now?”

  Dylan let out a compressed breath. “He’s never over it. Not since Mom died.”

  “So he’s still upset with you?”

  “Kevin more than me. Which I don’t get. Kevin never does anything bad.” He grimaced. “Well, at least he didn’t until he started cutting school and falling off things.”

  “And you do?”

  He gave her a sideways look. “Sometimes I don’t do exactly what he wants.”

  “You’re a teenager,” she said dryly. “That’s in your job description.”

  She got a smile for that. Small victories, she thought. “Is he unfair about it?”

  “Not about that,” Dylan said then stopped. About something, then, she thought.

  “What is he unfair about?”

  “Kevin,” Dylan said after a moment. “He gets in trouble for...nothing.”

  “More than you do?” He nodded. “Could it be that he’s home more, because he’s younger? Simply more chances to get in trouble?”

  “Maybe.”

  But the boy didn’t sound convinced.

  “I gotta go,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “Yes,” she said neutrally, knowing it was time for his session with Liam.

  “Sorry about the essay. I’ll do better next time.”

  “I’m not worried about it. And I’m always here if you want to talk, Dylan. Even if it’s about nothing.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He left her feeling as if she’d failed him utterly. She could only hope Liam had better luck.

  * * *

  “That Brazilian stuff...could you stop a guy without hurting him?”

  Liam looked up from putting his boots back on to face Dylan. They’d just finished their session, and it hadn’t been pretty. To be honest, he’d been almost as distracted as Dylan had been, from the moment Ria had appeared in the upper gallery. Just his luck Dylan’s free period coincided with hers.

  He straightened and turned to the boy, made himself focus. He saw more than just idle curiosity in Dylan’s eyes. This was specific.

  “Depends on how rabid he is,” Liam said. “But any time there’s contact, somebody could get hurt.”

  “You stopped Alan without hurting him.”

  “Except maybe his pride,” Liam said. Dylan’s mouth seemed to try for a grin, but it faded almost instantly. “Calculated risk,” Liam said with a shrug. “I figured he’d rush me. His kind usually do. And there was a mat, which you won’t have in the real world.”

  “Could a kid stop a big guy?”

  Was he the kid? Had Alan been giving him trouble? Was he taking out his public embarrassment last week on Dylan? Liam had thought he’d ameliorated the situation by pretending the bully had been in on it all along, but maybe not.

  “Up to a point, yes. Although if the size difference is too great or the kid too small, he’s not going to win.”

  Dylan let out a sigh, as if he’d feared that answer.

  “What the kid can do is get himself a chance to escape,” Liam said, wondering if Dylan was talking about himself or his brother.

  Dylan’s mouth curved downward in a sour expression. “No escaping this.” The boy’s jaw tightened. Liam saw the moment when he decided. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does if somebody’s trying to hurt you.”

  “I’m not helpless!”

  The exclamation came out with such force that Liam guessed it was because the boy felt exactly that—helpless.

  “Dylan—”

  The school chimes pealed out, and Dylan seized on the chance to say hastily, “Gotta go.”

  As Dylan gathered his things, including the tablet computer in its case, Liam asked the boy casually, “You or your dad have a computer at home? Something bigger than your tablet?”

  Seemingly glad of the subject change, the boy answered normally. “Dad’s got Mom’s old one, but he only uses it for email. I use it for homework sometimes, but mostly I just use my phone and tablet. Why?”

  “I want to send you some sites to check out, and it would be easier to see on a bigger screen. Some photos you should study for positioning and stuff.”

  “Oh. Okay. I think he’ll let me use it for that, but it’s really slow.”

  “Maybe just leave it turned on and online tonight? Not sure when I’ll get it sent.”

  “Okay.”

  “See you Thursday,” Liam said. The boy didn’t respond, just kept walking, as if he were afraid Liam would bring up things he didn’t want to talk about again.

  The moment Dylan was out of sight Liam realized he was tensed up. And he reluctantly had to admit why. Ria was already on her way down. He could hear her light, steady footsteps on the metal stairs.

  He hadn’t spoken to her since Saturday night. Not that he hadn’t had the urge, but he’d fought it down. Maybe a thousand or so times. He
knew it was pretty insensitive to kiss a woman and then vanish—his sisters had certainly whined about it enough growing up—but every time he’d reached for the phone he’d stopped himself. Tried to tell himself it was because this was just proximity, and he’d been without too long. Tried to tell himself he was just falling prey to believing in Cutter’s machinations. Tried to tell himself any number of things, all of which fell short of the memory of that kiss.

  It couldn’t have been that...much. That hot. That fierce. That instantaneous. He didn’t have that kind of feeling in him—not anymore, anyway. He’d successfully quashed that long ago, when he’d had to face the price of not thinking and the cost to others for caring about him. No, he was ol’ easygoing, never-ruffled, never-serious Liam Burnett, and that was what he would stay.

  Steady now, he turned as she stepped out onto the polished wood floor.

  And forgot how to breathe.

  She was wearing a dress. A red dress. A red dress that somehow made her dark hair gleam even more. A red dress that hugged her curves and flared at the bottom, which hit a couple of inches above her knees and hinted maddeningly at the rest of her long, shapely legs, curved even more by a pair of simple black heels. He’d never thought of red and black as a favorite combination before, but right now he could be persuaded.

  Some old lyrics, from a song he’d heard back in Texas, about what happened to a man every time his woman wore that little red dress, ran through his head. Back then, he’d always thought of some super short, low-cut sexy thing. This was none of that. Except sexy. It came up to her neck and almost to her knees, yet it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  “You...you’re dressed up.” Well, that was lame.

  “Teacher’s meeting with the board.”

  “Oh.” Lamer still. Then he frowned. “Why?”

  “Monthly assessments. We go over all the students to identify anything that needs attention.”

  “Oh.” Again. “You going to bring up Dylan?”

  “Dr. Halvorson will ask for a report, I’m sure. But she’s reasonable. She won’t expect results this soon.”

  “Oh.” Damn. “Well, you look...great,” he finally managed.

  She smiled, and appeared genuinely pleased. “Thank you. How did it go?”

  He took a breath, the first one he’d been conscious of since she’d come into view. “I...okay. One little blip. Don’t know yet if it means anything.”

  “What?”

  “He brought up self-defense again. Asked if it was possible to stop an attacker without hurting him.”

  “Like you did Alan?”

  “That’s the example he used. But then he asked if a kid could stop a big guy. He bailed before I could get any more. Like if he was talking about himself or his brother.”

  Her frown deepened. And she wasn’t just pondering. She was thinking about something specific. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did.

  “What?”

  “I had a talk with him after class today, about his essay. It wasn’t up to the standard of his usual work.”

  “He said he had a discussion with you. That that’s why he was late.”

  She nodded. “I asked how things were, if his father was still mad, like he was the day he came here. He said his father has been mad ever since his mother died.”

  “Understandable.”

  “Yes. But he said something else that bothers me.”

  “What?”

  “That he treats him and Kevin differently.”

  Liam smiled crookedly. “Sometimes it’s necessary. My dad chewed on me all the time, more than my brothers and sisters. But I was the black sheep, the one always in trouble.”

  She smiled, as if the image amused her. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But when she spoke, she stayed on the subject at hand.

  “That’s just it. He said Kevin gets in trouble for nothing. Implied that he does things that are worse and doesn’t get in trouble. That his father is unfair about some things.”

  Liam frowned. “Favoritism?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Has it always been like that?”

  “I’m not sure. I get the feeling it’s all since their mother died, but he didn’t say that in so many words.” She looked thoughtful. “I do not like the juxtaposition of three of those things.”

  “You mean Oakley’s anger, the boys being treated differently and Dylan asking if a kid could hold off a big guy?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Throw in Kevin suddenly turning up with scrapes and bruises and I really don’t like it.”

  “Exactly,” she said. “I should report this. He’s not our student, but—”

  Liam held up a hand. “Give me tonight. I want to...check something out.”

  “Something?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What I do best,” he said. “Track.”

  He didn’t explain that he meant in the cyber world, not the real one. He had the feeling Ria wouldn’t approve, since it involved his old hacking skills and Barton Oakley’s old, hopefully vulnerable computer.

  Chapter 22

  Ria was sitting curled up in her favorite chair, trying to read—for pleasure this time—and having trouble. There was a fine hum of tension just beneath the surface, and it had Kevin Oakley’s name on it. She trusted Liam, enough to give him the time he’d asked for, but the thought that that little boy might be being abused ate at her.

  In the morning she would take the proper steps, she told herself. She wasn’t comfortable with waiting any longer than that. As a teacher she knew well what needed to be done, and while the fact that Kevin was not her student took it out of her realm of direct responsibility legally, morally she had no doubts.

  That Dylan might be angry at her, since he was so clearly torn between protecting his brother and his love for his father, was just a consequence she might have to take. He—

  Her cell phone text alert went off. She smiled at the notes of The Yellow Rose of Texas. She’d assigned the famous folk song to Liam’s number, telling herself that, as long as they were working on this, he might text or call. And somewhere under the logic was the emotional reason: she wanted a warning if it was him. Time to get her pulse under control, if nothing else.

  She picked up the phone and tapped to open the messaging app.

  Still up?

  She took a moment and a breath, and then she nearly laughed at herself. It was only a text, after all.

  Yes. Reading. Or trying to.

  The answer came back quickly.

  New info. Changes everything. Meet?

  Her breath caught. What had happened? Obviously it wasn’t something urgent, something happening right now or he’d be taking action, not just wanting to meet. And she doubted he would consult her first; for all his laid-back demeanor, once stirred he moved fast. Hadn’t she seen that in the way he’d uncoiled on Alan, going from that easy grace to swift, efficient action?

  The fact that for a split second she considered texting back Your place or mine? steadied her. Where? she sent instead.

  She had a sudden image of him having the same thought, of suggesting they meet here or at his place. Telling herself not to be a bigger fool than she’d already been, she waited. Then the reply came.

  I’m at Foxworth. Can you get here?

  On my way in 5.

  Thx.

  She was glad she hadn’t changed out of her jeans and sweater yet. Even though she’d thought about it after shedding the dress and kicking off those damned heels, she hadn’t surrendered to the lure of pajamas at eight o’clock. She found herself smiling as she remembered Liam’s reaction to that dress. She’d found it on the sale rack at a high-end store, a pl
ace she could never afford normally. It had looked rather plain on the hanger, but she’d liked the cut of it and tried it on.

  She would have bought it then, even if it meant she had to live on rice for a month. And Liam’s stunned stare had made it worth every penny.

  She told herself that she would have felt pleased if any man reacted like that. And that little voice that had been so much more active lately merely laughed.

  She ran a brush through her hair, grateful as always for the sleek bob’s simplicity. Checked her makeup, brushed away a flake of mascara, did a quick swipe with tinted lip gloss and decided that was enough. She was not trying to impress him, she told herself firmly.

  She grabbed the soda she’d been drinking in the hope that the caffeine would help her focus on her reading. It hadn’t, but she might need the alertness to deal with whatever it was that Liam had discovered.

  As she drove, she found herself hoping fiercely it wasn’t anything negative about Dylan, that Liam hadn’t found proof somehow that Cutter had been wrong, that it really had been Dylan causing his brother’s so-called accidents. Then she wondered how Liam had found out whatever this was. Had he perhaps gone to Dylan’s home? Followed him?

  Her thoughts kept tumbling. Cutter hadn’t liked Dylan’s father when he’d shown up. But that could have just been the man’s angry mood. It would be silly to read any more into it than a dog’s instinct to protect against a threat. No matter how clever Liam said he was.

  In fact, Cutter was outside to greet her when she arrived. She bent to pet him, guessing he’d heard her car on the gravel drive long before she’d actually wound her way through the trees to the clearing. She straightened just as Liam followed the dog out the door.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said when he reached her.

  There was something different in his voice. Not something added but rather something missing—that undertone she often noticed, that always made her wonder what he was thinking that he wasn’t saying. Even his demeanor was different. Gone was the casual, almost lazy-seeming stroll and posture.

  “How bad is it?” she asked instinctively.