She looked like Sabella. His Sabella. It was his Sabella. But she was so different.
Her sun-streaked blond tresses were darker, almost brown in some places. And her hair was longer now. Well past her shoulders, thick and heavy. Her face was thinner, her expression was quieter.
There was no smile on her lips.
Unless she was angry, Nathan had never seen Sabella without a smile. The thought of her smiles, her laughter, her joy, followed him into his dreams sometimes. Sometimes, they held the nightmares at bay. What would he hold on to now that he saw that smile was gone?
He held the picture in one hand, staring at her. He had refused to read any of the reports he knew Jordan kept on her. Refused to hear anything about her in the past six years.
He had only two questions if her name came up.
Was she alive? Was she safe?
Jordan had always nodded, and Noah had always walked away.
He opened the mission file.
It didn't take long to read it. Even less time for him to have to fight the howl of pure rage that burned in his throat.
Sabella was smack in the middle of an operation that had already killed three FBI agents and the wife of a prominent politician.
Son of a bitch. He'd asked his father for one thing in his entire life. If anything ever happened to him, to watch out for Sabella, and that lying bastard had sworn he would. But he hadn't. Sabella was undefended.
Only his bastard half brother was trying to help at this point.
The mission file was peppered with information on Sabella, his half brother, Rory, his grandfather, Riordan, and the father he could feel himself beginning to hate now.
And it was filled with danger. That danger could touch Sabella. He could see it. He could see the threads that, if pulled just the right way, would tighten around his wife's neck and put her in harm's way.
Nathan's wife, he reminded himself bitterly, not Noah's. Noah Blake had no wife. But he couldn't erase the past that had once belonged to him, or the dreams of a wife that had been his, no matter how hard he tried.
And now she was in danger.
Because he hadn't watched out for her.
He sat down and stared at the picture. It was bad enough the man she had loved had died, but the haunted shell that was left hadn't even been able to watch out for her.
He ran his finger over the picture, down the curve of her cheek, as he closed his eyes and remembered her smile. Remembered touching her. As he let himself remember, outside his dreams, of loving her.
"Go síoraí," he whispered, breathing in the scent of those memories. "Forever, Sabella. I'll love you forever." And the first crack in Noah Blake's shell appeared.
"Nathan." His name was breathed into the darkness as Sabella came awake. As though the past six years had never happened, as though she had never lost him. She heard his voice in the darkness. Those words. The ones she had never asked the meaning of. Go síoraí.
She stared into the dimly lit room. No Nathan. Nathan wasn't there. Dry eyed, aching, she lay back down and closed her eyes. "Goodbye, Nathan," she whispered back, wishing she could still cry. Wishing the pain could be shed so easily. "I miss you."
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
The little shack that sat in the middle of the sprawling Rocking M Ranch looked just as weathered, just as faded and familiar, as it ever had even in the dark, beneath a bleak, black night.
Noah moved through the darkness like a wraith. He jumped the little wrought-iron fence and moved to his grandmother's grave.
Erin Malone. Go síoraí. Forever. They were the only words on her granite tombstone. His grandfather had chiseled them in himself.
Kneeling by the tombstone, Noah stretched out his left hand, touched the stone, and lowered his head. His grandfather had always paid homage to their grandmother in this fashion. All her children had except Grant Malone. And Noah did now. He wondered if his brother Rory did as well.
He lifted his head and stared at the shack. It was dark, shadowed, but he knew his half brother was there.
He eased back from the grave then and bounded back over the fence before moving to the cabin.
Rory was quick. He was suspicious. He had known throughout the day that someone was watching the cabin, but Noah hadn't tried to hide it.
He moved around the shack on silent feet. He flowed with the shadows, became a part of them, used them to his advantage until he stood at the end of the back porch and stared at the young man who sat in the aged rocker.
Rory was twenty-five, a man grown, and he looked too much like Nathan had at that age. He was broader in the shoulders and his muscles were heavier, but not as effective.
Rory sat silently, his rifle resting across his thighs, his body tense.
"I know you're here," his brother muttered. "If I haven't scoped you by now, I'm not going to. You might as well take the shot." Disgust lined his voice, filled his expression as his head lifted.
Rory thought he was dead, just as everyone else did. And Noah needed to ensure no one else suspected. Except Rory. Nathan would need his help.
As silent as moonlight he was over the banister of the porch, the rifle pulled from Rory's grip, the barrel across his brother's neck as the rocker tilted back to the wall.
It wasn't a harsh grip, it was a warning one. He didn't want to wake the old man. He didn't want to add to Rory's grief, or to his own shame.
"Stay silent," Noah hissed in Rory's dark face. "I'm not here to hurt you."
Rory's expression was frankly disbelieving. But Noah would have been surprised if he'd reacted any other way.
"You have one chance to know what I know about your brother," Noah warned him quietly. "One chance. Blow it, and it will never return."
Rory's eyes narrowed. Startling blue eyes, true Malone eyes.
"My brother's dead," he bit out quietly. "What could you tell me about him that my uncle couldn't?"
Noah leaned closer. "Bràthair, what could I tell you that you want to know?"
Then Noah leaned back again slowly. Rory was shaking. His dark face, Gaelic dark, paled as he stared back at the shadow hovering in front of his vision.
Noah moved back slowly, still gripping the rifle. "Come with me." He jerked his head to the shed at the edge of the house yard. "Does he still keep the shed lit?"
There was no answer, but Rory was following. They stepped into the shed and Noah closed the door carefully before flipping the light on.