Free Dead Wrong by Mariah Stewart Page B

he was.
    He wished she had one of those big, lumbering dogs that took their time, the ones that sort of waddled as they ambled along, instead of this speedy little thing that buzzed along the sidewalk at breakneck speed.
    He wished she’d slow down.
    He wished his hip wasn’t bothering him. It was almost enough to make him wish that he’d finished his therapy program.
    All in all, it was a pretty pathetic effort on his part.
    And it was awkward, wondering just what exactly had set her off like that. Then again, with her in a huff, he wasn’t pressed into making conversation, and for that he was grateful. By the time they returned to Mara’s house, he was pretty much out of breath, and his left leg and his right hip were nagging at him in concert, exacting a painful duet upon him for his effort.
    He tried his best not to limp.
    “I’m going to close up the house,” she announced as she locked the front door. “You can go on up to your room, or stay down here and watch TV. Whichever you prefer.”
    “I’ll check the back.” He started toward the back of the house.
    “I said I’d do it. I’m really not helpless.” She made an effort to soften her tone just a bit. After all, he was doing her a favor by being here.
    Correction. He was doing Annie a favor.
    He barely glanced at her as he went down the hall to the back of the house where French doors opened onto the deck. He pulled against them, then, on his way back, pulled the slide lock shut on the basement door.
    “You could use a dead bolt on those doors back there,” he told her. “Did you check the kitchen windows?”
    “Yes, thanks.”
    “Then I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned from her and began to climb the stairs, clearly favoring one leg, leaning heavily on the rail for support, and it was then that she realized just what his determination to keep up with her pace had cost him.
    She tried to reconcile the man slowly laboring to climb the steps with all that Annie had told her over the years about the man Mara had first met at Annie and Dylan’s engagement party, a meeting that Aidan apparently did not recall. She knew from Annie that both he and Dylan—along with their older brother, Connor—played at some of the Bureau’s most dangerous games. The Shields brothers had moved with a sleek air of danger, of intrigue, that had fascinated and drawn the attention of all the ladies, including Mara.
    That quickness, that sureness, was nowhere to be found in the man who, seconds earlier, had limped toward the stairwell without complaint, and she understood now why she hadn’t immediately recognized him earlier in the driveway. The Aidan Shields on the steps was softer and twenty or so pounds heavier than the Aidan Shields who had gone undercover with his brother that one last time. The Aidan Shields who had carried his brother from an alley on a shattered leg, a bullet lodged in his hip. . . .
    The brisk-paced walk around the block had clearly been too much for him. She’d been a total ass not to realize how hard-pressed he’d been to keep up. A peace offering was in order. She threw out the only thing she had that could equate his sacrifice.
    “My husband and I divorced seven years ago,” she said quietly. “The day after the divorce became final, he took our daughter and disappeared.”
    He stopped midway up the steps and turned to look down at her. This time she did not look away.
    “You mean he—?”
    “Yes.” She didn’t wait for him to finish. “He took her and vanished and I haven’t seen either of them since.”
    “I’m assuming that Annie . . .” He gestured helplessly with one hand, stunned by her admission.
    “Yes, of course, Annie pulled out all the stops. But he’s very, very smart. He’s changed his name, and he’s done everything that people do when they want to make certain that no one ever finds them.”
    “Why would he . . . How could he—?” He spoke his thoughts aloud, understanding now why she’d been