The Callahan's: Ultimate Sins Part 33

It was after noon. Wayne never attacked during the day, it was always at night, she thought hysterically as she began running for the stairs, terror pumping through her senses. Any sense of safety she had felt over the past two days evaporated as though it had never existed.

Pure terror raced through her, blinding and filled with the agonizing certainty that somehow, some way, Wayne had gotten to her baby.

The sound of her daughter's screams ripped through the silence of the house again.

"G.o.d no. Kimmy."

Gripping the banister desperately, her fingers locked on the heavy wood, Amelia felt her heart pounding from her chest as she paused only a few feet down the stairs to get her bearings. Listening desperately, that m.u.f.fled male growl rasping across her senses, Amelia searched the foyer as she fought to figure out which direction to run in.

"Where are you, baby?" she whimpered, fighting to remain quiet, to figure out where her daughter was before wasting time by rushing in the wrong direction.

A deep-throated male roar suddenly erupted in the silence, followed immediately by-girlish giggles?

Kimmy tore across the foyer from the family room, running h.e.l.l for leather into the formal living room as she laughed uproariously in joy. Behind her, shrouded by one of the checkered blankets Amelia kept thrown over the couch, the tall, broad form of an obviously chuckling male followed her.

Amelia sank quickly to the stairs, sitting on one of the wide steps as weakness flooded her limbs. Tears fell from her eyes as relief rushed through her. She felt suddenly dizzy with the realization that Kimmy wasn't in danger after all.

Another of those deep "dying bear" growls rasped from the living room-was it Crowe shrouded in that blanket, playing with their daughter? Was he the one causing those high girlish giggles that were music to her ears as he pretended to growl at her? The thought of it had a smile beginning to tremble on her lips.

At that moment Kimmy tore from the living room again, releasing another laughing scream and racing into the foyer. Rounding the wide, curving steps, her giggles echoed through the high-ceilinged foyer and traveled through the house.

"Dammit, Logan, how many times do I have to tell you that Amelia's still sleeping?" Crowe's voice snapped from the library doorway as both Kimmy and Logan came to a hard stop.

Looking through the narrow gap between the wide spindles Amelia could see her daughter's expression instantly transform from childish joy to wariness.

Kimmy stood perfectly still, just staring at her father's expression for long moments, her gaze narrowed on him.

That wasn't a good sign.

Oh G.o.d, please don't let her- "That's a bad word."

Amelia winced at the disapproval in Kimmy's voice and the narrow-eyed glare the little girl was directing at the man standing in front of her.

Then her stance shifted. Placing her little hand on her hip, she stuck out her chin stubbornly as her lips drew into a thin line.

The stance and her expression were identical to Crowe's. The only difference, Amelia noticed, was the way Kimmy lifted that little chin into the air. Though Amelia feared that had more to do with the fact that Crowe was looking down at his daughter rather than head-on.

The two faced off, father and daughter, each sizing the other up like two boxers would before beginning to dance around each other.

"I'll be sure to watch out for that in the future." His jaw clenched as he obviously fought against some tightly held emotion.

Or anger.

"But, as I said," he continued, "your mother is sleeping-"

"You just don't like me!" Kimmy's skinny little arms crossed over her chest as her sweet voice held an unfamiliar note of anger. "I thought you just didn't like kids, but you spent all morning playing with Logan's little baby instead and wouldn't play with me at all."

Her anger was fierce. An indication of how deep that anger glowed.

"Now you don't even want me to play with my uncle Logan?" Outraged incredulity filled her voice.

Crowe wiped a hand over his face before reaching back to rub at the back of his neck, staring beseechingly at Logan.

"You made your bed, sleep in it." It was more than obvious that his cousin was upset with him, and now Crowe knew it as well.

He breathed out wearily, the look he directed to Logan hinting at retribution.

"Kimmy." He spoke with the air of man forced to push the words past his lips. "I do not dislike you-"

"You are not my daddy." A small finger jabbed in his direction before Kimmy placed both hands on her hips, obviously out of patience where her father was concerned.

Amelia's eyes widened with shock even as pride began to fill her broken heart.

"The h.e.l.l I'm not, little girl." Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared back at her. "Sucks to be you, but you look just like me."

For the briefest second he seemed to have surprised himself with the response.

"You said a bad word again. Don't you know daddies don't do that in front of their little girls?" Her tone was scathing, her little face flushing with hurt and anger. "I know you're not my daddy because my mommy says my daddy is a hero and everyone knows heroes do not say bad words in front of their little girls."

Sweet heaven, where had Kimmy heard that? Were her parents allowing her to watch too much television again?

"Kimberly." Crowe's tone indicated his intent to berate her.

"My name is Kimmy, just like my grandma who went to heaven to be my guardian angel after that bad man killed her," she informed him imperiously as Crowe's expression reflected his shock. "My mommy said my daddy fights bad men and wins. She says he likes to fish and he knows how to play really cool games." Her chin lifted a notch in a surfeit of pride. "She said my daddy will love me more than a kid loves ice cream. My mommy doesn't lie to me, so you lied to her when you told her you were my daddy. You are not my daddy!" She screamed the final declaration to him, dry-eyed and filled with childish fury.

Turning, Kimmy raced back to the family room, pa.s.sing Logan and ignoring his attempt to stop her.

Amelia watched, filled with anger for her daughter's sake and a pain-ridden sense of loss as she watched Crowe's expression change the minute Kimmy was no longer facing him.

"Geez, Crowe." Logan stared back at his cousin in complete astonishment. "Until now, I never believed you were actually stupid. Too much pride maybe, but not stupid."

"Shut up, Logan," Crowe snapped, glaring at the doorway his daughter had disappeared through.

"f.u.c.k that," Logan muttered, causing Crowe's gaze to swing to him, narrowing.

"Logan..."

"Just shut up," Logan ordered, his voice low now. "I know you, Crowe. You're dying to wrap that kid in cotton and hold her tight enough to smother her with your love. Yet you won't even play with her? You don't even try to talk to her." Logan shook his head in confusion as his hands went to his hips and his expression turned caustic. "a.s.shole. Remind me when young Beauregard Logan gets a little older that you're grounded from playing with him until you learn how to be a daddy."

Turning away from his cousin, Logan headed to the family room where the sounds of Kimmy's favorite cartoon began to play. "I'd rather watch SpongeBob with Kimmy than talk to you. At least that stupid yellow sponge tries to make sense."

He disappeared into the room as Amelia slowly rose to her feet, staring down at Crowe for long, silent moments.

f.u.c.k!

Crowe would have muttered the word aloud, but he really was trying to clean up his language.

The confrontation brought a memory from his youth that he hadn't realized he'd had, though. A memory he couldn't force back into that dark little void where he usually kept them.

The girl Crowe was playing with threw sand at him, the fine grains filling Crowe's thick hair and tickling his scalp. He used one of the words he'd heard his father use once.

Hearing the word, his father, who never seemed to be far enough away when he was being bad, came to the sandbox and pulled eight-year-old Crowe from it firmly.

His father was disappointed. That knowledge had Crowe hanging his head and scuffing his shoe in the dirt as his father sat back down on the park bench, watching him for long moments.

"Sorry, Dad," Crowe muttered.

David Callahan sighed wearily as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Look at me, Crowe." Firm but gentle, his father's tone still wasn't one Crowe could ignore.

"Men don't use vulgar language or curse in front of women or children, son," his father berated him.

"You cuss around Mom," Crowe, in all his childish wisdom, felt the need to point out. "I heard you while me and Logan were playing out back."

"Hiding out back you mean?" his father suggested knowingly as he gave Crowe "that" look. The one that a.s.sured Crowe he'd done something else he shouldn't have done.

Crowe sighed gustily. "Dad, I promise, I didn't know you and Mom was in the yard," he said. "We was playing hide and seek with Rafe and he hadn't got to the backyard yet."

His father's expression gentled as he reached out and ruffled Crowe's hair gently.

He was forgiven for overhearing his dad cuss in front of his mom, but not for cussing in front of the sand-throwing little girl.

"Listen to me." His father gave him a look that made Crowe feel like he was being trusted with an important secret. "Your mom is my wife, so if I mess up and forget while we're talking, then it's different."

Crowe listened and watched his father's expression carefully as he nodded as though he knew what his father meant.

A small smile touched his father's lips. "But you don't cuss in front of women, and you definitely don't cuss in front of little girls. When mommies give daddies their children, then the rules change. Things you could do before, you can't do anymore, because you realize those children learn from you. And it's a daddy's job to teach their sons that they shouldn't do it. Would you like it if another boy said bad things to the baby Mommy's going to have, if it's a girl?"

Crowe thought about that seriously. He'd been awful mad at that little girl, but maybe she hadn't known the sand tickled his head. His dad had told him before that no one could read his mind, so they didn't always know why he was mad if he didn't tell them.

Finally, he shook his head. "No, I wouldn't like that."

"Think about it then." He nodded seriously. "Don't do anything in front of those little girls that you don't want someone to do to your sister. And remember, curse words are bad words, no matter when or where you say them."

Crowe nodded again. "I'll tell her I was sorry," he breathed out, because it was sure going to be a ch.o.r.e.

"That's a fine thing to do." His father sat back and watched him approvingly now. "I'm proud of you, Crowe," he announced before Crowe turned away from him. "Very proud of you."

And Crowe felt he'd grown two feet the second his father nodded at him as though he just completed a tremendous feat.

Turning, Crowe ran back to the sandbox.

The memory hadn't just been one of learning why little boys didn't cuss in front of little girls; it had been about his father's love. Not once, for even a second, had he doubted his father's love. And he couldn't see David Callahan giving one of his children a reason to ever doubt he was their father.

A part of him wanted to stride into that family room, send Logan's a.s.s packing, and explain to his daughter that he wasn't rejecting her. He could never reject her. He was trying to protect her. He was trying to make a monster realize that striking out at her, before Crowe could kill him, wouldn't hurt Crowe.

The truth was, it would destroy him. It would dig a wound so deep inside him, Crowe knew he would never recover from it. And he'd known since hours before his daughter had shown up that somehow, some way, Wayne was getting information from inside the house. Knowing that, and knowing Wayne would strike before he was prepared if he didn't handle things just right, terrified the h.e.l.l out of him.

As he stood there, staring at the door Kimmy had disappeared through, Crowe realized he was being watched.

And he knew who was watching.

Grimacing, he lifted his gaze to where Amelia stood, staring down at him, tears dampening her cheeks.

Slowly, she shook her head. "What next, Crowe?" she whispered. "When is anyone going to matter as much to you as killing Wayne?"

Turning, she moved back up the stairs, her shoulders slumping.

"You're wrong, Amelia." He forced himself to move to the bottom of the stairs as she paused, looking back at him.

"No, I'm not." Her gaze flicked to the family room where Logan's and Kimmy's laughter could be heard. "She's your child, not Logan's." She blinked back more tears. "She hasn't had you in all these years, though, and she's survived. I'm sure she'll survive without you now. I'll make sure of it."

She hurried up the stairs then, almost running as she went quickly back to her room.

Running wasn't going to help.

Gripping the banister he moved up the stairs, his gaze narrowed, determination setting inside him. d.a.m.n her, she should have known why, he thought furiously. She should have known to the bottom of her soul that he would never turn his own child away.

And if she didn't know, then he was about to inform her.

And while he was at it, he'd make d.a.m.ned sure she never turned her back on him again.

Stalking up the stairs and down the hall, he jerked his cell phone from the holder on his belt and quickly texted Logan, Rafe, and Ivan that he wasn't to be disturbed unless necessary. And neither was Amelia.

Let them make of that whatever the h.e.l.l they wanted to.

h.e.l.l, even Logan knew him better than that. He knew Crowe was dying to hold his daughter, dying to play with her, watch cartoons with her, and send her running through the house in gales of laughter-but now he suddenly couldn't figure out why Crowe wasn't doing any of that?

It must have been too long since he'd beaten some sense into that little s.h.i.t.

Pushing open the door to Amelia's room, he closed it loudly, watching as she swung around to face him in surprise.

"You don't turn your back on me, Amelia," he told her softly, warningly.

"f.u.c.k you, Crowe." She glared back at him.

He locked the door. "Why, Amelia, I don't care a bit if you do."

He moved to her as her lips parted in shock at his deliberate misunderstanding. Then, before she could stop him, he had his hands on her. Pulling her to him, one arm going around her back, the other catching her head to hold her in place, he lowered his head and caught her parted lips in a kiss that he swore sent pleasure surging all the way to his f.u.c.king toenails.

When they were both breathless, when her hands buried in his hair to hold him to her, rather than pushing at his chest to get away from him, his head lifted.

"You know me, Amelia." He spoke slowly, clearly as he stared down at her, still holding her to him. "And you know d.a.m.ned well I would never count anyone more important than my child and her mother."