Standing In The Shadows. Shannon McKenna

I told her she needed a bodyguard, and she spit in my eye,” Connor said. “Threw me out of her apartment.”

      “I don’t blame her,” Sean said. “A guy who looks like you is not a good fashion accessory for a bodacious babe.”

      “Bite me,” Connor said wearily. He pulled his tobacco and papers out of his pocket.

      “Did it occur to you to shave, or brush your hair before you inflicted yourself on her?” Sean lectured. “Jesus, Con. You barbarian.”

      Connor nodded toward his older brother. “Davy’s got beard stubble. Bug him for a while.”

      “Davy’s another story.” Sean’s voice was elaborately patient. “Davy irons his shirts. Davy eats. Beard stubble is a very different fashion statement on Davy.”

      Davy stroked his stubble and gave Connor an apologetic shrug.

      Connor looked at Davy. “Speaking of food. You promised me a steak.”

      Davy looked startled. “You mean, you actually want some?”

      “I’m hungry,” Connor said.

      Sean’s jaw sagged. “So having Erin Riggs spit in your eye stimulates your appetite, huh?” He sprang to his feet. “One rare T-bone coming right up. I’ll nuke you a baked potato, if you want.”

      “Make it two,” Connor said. “Lots of butter and sour cream and chives. And don’t forget the black pepper.”

      “Don’t push your luck.” Sean’s grouching was belied by his huge grin. He kicked open the screen door and bounded toward the kitchen.

      “When do you need the Mueller info?” Davy asked.

      “Tomorrow morning. I’m taking a road trip down to Portland.”

      Davy’s face darkened. “To meet her plane? Oh, Christ. Forget the hero routine just this once. Call Nick. They’re the ones who should—”

      “I already tried Nick. They think Novak’s back in Europe.”

      “They probably have good reason to think so,” Davy growled.

      “I’ve got a bad feeling,” Connor said. “She can’t go meet this guy all alone. If Ed were around, it would be his job to look after her, but—”

      “But Ed’s not around,” Davy cut in. “And that is not your fault.”

      “It’s not Erin’s fault, either.” Connor avoided his brother’s gaze as he finished rolling the cigarette. “And I don’t blame myself.”

      Davy slammed his beer bottle onto the table, a rare show of temper for his self-contained brother. “The hell you don’t. You can’t save the whole world, lamebrain. Get your own life back on track before you go racing off to rescue some damsel in distress.”

      “I didn’t ask for your opinion on my love life,” Connor retorted.

      Davy’s lowering eyebrows shot up. “Whoa,” he said. “Back up two steps. Who said anything about your love life?”

      Connor cupped the cigarette in his hand and lit it. He took a deep drag and exhaled, to calm himself down before he dared to speak.

      “Leave it alone, Davy,” he said.

      “Watch it, Con,” Davy said. “You’re treading on shaky ground.”

      Sean burst through the screen door and passed Connor a cold beer. “Food’ll be out in a few,” he announced.

      “Thanks,” Connor muttered.

      Sean looked from one brother to the other. His eyes narrowed. “Did I miss something?”

      “No,” Davy and Connor said, in unison.

      Sean scowled. “I hate it when you guys do that,” he snapped. He slammed the screen door behind him, hard.

      Connor finished his cigarette in grim silence. Davy for once had the good sense to nurse his beer and keep his mouth shut.

      Sean kicked open the door a few minutes later and placed a loaded plate in front of Connor. He dug into it without hesitation.

      His two brothers silently watched him consume a twelve-ounce steak, two big baked potatoes, a sliced tomato, and three big hunks of hot, toasted French bread slathered with garlic butter.

      Connor finally noticed their fixed stares. “Cut it out, you guys,” he protested. “Quit watching me eat, already. You’re inhibiting me.”

      Davy crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Give us a break. We haven’t seen you eat like that for sixteen months.”

      “It’s awesome.” Sean’s face was unusually serious. “That’s a week’s worth of calories for you, Con. All in one meal. Check you out.”

      Connor mopped up the last of his steak juice with a hunk of bread. He felt a vague stab of guilt. “You guys shouldn’t worry. I’m fine.”

      Davy snorted. “We’ll see how fine you feel when you get back from Portland.”

      Sean frowned. “What’s this about Portland?”

      “He’s going to be Erin’s welcoming committee when she goes to meet the mysterious millionaire who may or may not be Novak,” Davy told him. “He wants to guard her luscious body. Personally.”

      “Oh, Christ. You don’t say. Well, finish your dinner, then. You’re going to need your strength. What hardware you taking?” Sean asked.

      “Just the SIG. And the Ruger SP-101, for backup.”

      “Want some company?” Sean asked.

      Connor glanced at him, startled. “I thought you were busy.”

      “I’m not too busy to watch my brother’s back,” Sean said.

      Connor’s mouth twitched. “Think I need a baby-sitter, huh?”

      “Interpret it however the fuck you want.”

      Connor finished the final swallow of beer. “I’m OK on my own,” he said. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

      “You want Erin all to yourself, huh?”

      Connor ignored his younger brother’s taunting with the ease of long practice. “Would you guys contact Seth and Raine about Novak?”

      “I’m on it,” Sean said promptly.

      “I’ll go get to work on this info,” Davy said. “Get some sleep, Connor. You look beat. Crash here, and I’ll give you the rundown over breakfast. The bed’s already made up for you on the side porch.”

      “Thanks.” He got to his feet and stared at his brothers, struck by the bizarre urge to say something sentimental to them.

      Sean read it in his eyes, took pity on him, and headed him off. “Get a goddamn haircut if you’re looking to get laid, Con.”

      Connor winced. “You are such a pig.”

      “Sure, but at least I look good,” was Sean’s parting shot.

      Connor flopped onto the bed, staring out at the mass of tree branches that swayed outside the glassed-in side porch. The chair next to the bed had a towel, washcloth, and a pair of Davy’s folded sweats lying on it, presumably for him to sleep in. He was exhausted, but his mind was buzzing. He closed his eyes, and his photographic memory promptly served up the image of Erin puttering around in her kitchen, her sweet, curvy body delicious in the faded jeans and T-shirt.

      Fresh fodder for his sexual imagination. He’d fantasized about sneaking into her bedroom at Ed and Barbara’s house for years. He’d imagined himself, a big, blundering bull in that feminine world of ruffles and lace, puffy pillows, perfume bottles, lingerie. And Erin, backing up toward her bed, her eyes heavy