But his eyes held the same animosity they’d held two decades earlier. Back then, disappointment had tempered it. Now that disappointment was gone, and all that remained was hatred.
“You’ve got one minute.” Ice laced his tone.
“Fine. I get it that Chloe’s your granddaughter. I’ll even accept that you’ve gotten attached to her. But Shelby is her aunt, and you’re not going to take Chloe away from her.” Because if Shelby lost the battle, he would, too.
“Boy, you’re sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
“What happens to Chloe is my business. She’s my niece.” And he’d do anything in his power to make sure Robert McConnell didn’t raise her. It was one thing he and Shelby agreed on.
His father’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve said your piece. Now get off my property.”
Ryan moved a step closer. “Stay away from Shelby, or I’ll have her file a restraining order against you.”
“Don’t threaten me, boy.”
“I’m not your boy.”
The man’s lips curled back in a sneer. “You’re right. I only have one son.”
“And he’s locked up for the next decade or two. Enjoy that relationship.”
The older man flinched, almost imperceptibly. Ryan had struck where it hurt—his father’s only failures. Two sons, each a massive disappointment, for opposite reasons.
In elementary school, Ryan had looked up to the man with little-boy innocence. By the time he’d reached junior high, that innocence was gone. His father had begun to groom him, teaching him what it meant to be a McConnell. He’d taken Ryan to his clubs in Vegas, Reno, Portland and LA and walked him through in the morning hours, before the employees and any of the girls arrived. In the silence and stillness, a heavy air had hung over the empty establishments—dark and dangerous, but intriguing.
Ryan had also observed some meetings. The adults had talked in code, the phrases tough and mysterious, their meanings too obscure for his young brain to interpret. But one word always stood out. Every one of those intimidating men called his father “boss,” a title that would one day be his.
The power was heady. But another influence pulled him in the opposite direction—Kyle’s family. His father forbade the friendship, but his mother encouraged it. So weekends with his mom usually included time with the Gordons. In the end, Kyle’s father won the battle for his future. The man was nothing that his own father was. And everything he was not.
Ryan spun and walked back to the Equinox, ultra-aware of the pistol locked on his back. When he climbed into his vehicle and shut the door, a tense breath escaped. The hedges on each side of the drive kept him from turning around easily, but after executing a seven-or nine-point turn, he headed back toward the gate. It swung open in front of him. Seconds later, he pulled onto the road and accelerated, the engine revving as he left his childhood home behind.
Chloe’s custody should be an open-and-shut case. Shelby was the obvious choice. Or he was. Or both of them. But he couldn’t say for sure that every judge in the district was beyond accepting bribes. If there was one that could be bought, his father would find a way to make sure he got the case.
But that wasn’t all that weighed on him. He knew what his father was capable of. He just wasn’t sure how far he was willing to go to get what he wanted this time.
Ryan was the man’s flesh and blood. His father couldn’t order the trigger pulled, or pull it himself, without some agonizing.
Shelby didn’t have that advantage. Neither had the others who had crossed his father over the years. Men whose bodies had ended up in a back alley, or the Sammamish River, or locked in their own vehicles with a bullet through the head. Others had simply disappeared. There was never any evidence pointing to Robert McConnell. He was too good. Too careful.
But Ryan knew it. And law enforcement knew it.
Like those before her, Shelby was an unwanted obstacle. His father’s other victims would have recognized their mistakes and known the danger they were in.
Shelby didn’t. And seeing the fierce protectiveness in her eyes when she’d insisted she was taking Chloe, she wouldn’t give up the fight even if she did.
That left Ryan with one option. He needed to warn her, to convince her he was on her side. To do that, he was going to have to get her to hear him out. She already didn’t trust him, so it wouldn’t be easy.
In fact, now that his father had paid her a visit, it was going to be nearly impossible.
Shelby sat at her desk, a stack of cash in front of her. Music blared through the diner, a 1980s tune. The girls insisted they could get through cleanup faster with peppy music. Today it was Jeri’s turn to pick what played, so she’d brought in a Def Leppard CD. Not Shelby’s first choice, but as long as the work was getting done, she could listen to anything.
She tore a deposit slip from the pad and laid it next to the stack of cash. After transferring the currency and coin figures from the Post-It onto the correct lines, she stuffed everything into the zippered bag and locked it in the safe. Tomorrow morning, she’d slip out and make the bank run.
When she exited the office, Jeri was mopping the diner floor in time to “Bringin’ On the Heartbreak.” Tessa and Pam were apparently working in the kitchen.
Shelby stepped through the swinging metal doors, and Tessa looked up from the cast-iron griddle she was curing. An easy smile climbed up her cheeks. That wasn’t unusual. Whatever the task, Tessa radiated cheer.
Hiring her to fill the position of assistant manager three months ago had been one of the best decisions Shelby had made. With Tessa in charge, everything seemed to run as smoothly in Shelby’s absence as when she was there. Though Shelby hadn’t gone on a real vacation in years, several situations recently had taken her away from the diner for the day.
Two weeks ago, it was Aunt Bea’s funeral. This week, it was meeting with a child-custody lawyer and planning yet another funeral. Saturday, she would leave Tessa in charge again while she said her final goodbye to Mia. In the coming months, there were going to be more obligations—checkups for Chloe, lawyer appointments, court hearings, interviews with Child Services.
Meanwhile, she’d dig up all the dirt she could find on the McConnells. Addy had already given her Randall’s history. He’d been in and out of trouble and finally gotten caught dealing heroin. According to Addy, Robert was just as bad, was maybe even Mafia. Shelby hoped Addy had exaggerated that part because of her obvious dislike for both Ryan and his brother.
Shelby didn’t know much about Ryan. Addy had only said he was a ladies’ man and couldn’t be trusted. But her gut told her he wasn’t like his father and brother. Maybe it was the seriousness in his eyes. Or the fact that he’d spent the past twenty years serving his country. Or the way he carried himself, with pride and honor.
But he was a McConnell, and she didn’t trust him any more than she trusted the others.
The jangling of the phone blended with the blare of guitars pouring from the CD player. Shelby hit Pause before slipping behind the counter to take the call. They were technically closed—they had been for more than a half hour—but she’d have to take care of the caller eventually. Why not now?
She lifted the receiver from the cradle on the back wall and put it to her ear. “Aunt Bea’s Diner.”
“Shelby?”
She’d spoken with Ryan a grand total of three times, but she recognized his smooth, rich voice instantly. She lowered the phone. Before she could place it back on the hook, pleading words reached her.
“Please, don’t