Читать книгу Egan Cassidy's Kid - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 9

After all these years, he finally had what he wanted—the perfect ammunition to use against his worst enemy. At long last, he could make Egan Cassidy pay. All he had to do to bring Cassidy to his knees was kidnap Bent Douglas.

General Grant Cullen, the supreme leader of the Ultimate Survivalists, leaned back in his swivel chair and grinned. Revenge was sweet. Hell, just the contemplation of revenge was sweet.

He had waited nearly thirty years for this day and he was going to savor every minute of it.

“I want champagne,” Cullen told his right-hand man, Winn Sherman. “Send one of the boys to the wine cellar. This is a celebration!”

“Then your phone call was the news you’ve been waiting for?” Winn asked.

“Oh, yes.” Grant rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I’ve been searching a lifetime to find a way to destroy Egan Cassidy. I knew that sooner or later the way in which I could inflict great suffering on him would be revealed to me.”

“And the way has been revealed, sir?”

Grant laughed. “Mmm-mmm…” He licked his lips and sighed. “I could have killed Cassidy years ago, but I wanted more. I need to see him suffer, to see him lose everything, the way I did. And now it’s going to happen.”

“I thought you’d told me that Cassidy had nothing to lose, except his life.”

“Ah, but that’s the joy of it. He does have more to lose—much more—and he doesn’t even know it,” Cullen said.

“Then this last private detective uncovered something you can use against Cassidy?”

“Indeed he did. He came upon some information that none of the other idiots I hired ever discovered.”

Grant couldn’t remember when he’d felt more alive. More exhilarated. Pure pleasure wound its way through his mind and body as he fantasized about the moment he would rip out Cassidy’s heart.

“It seems that for the past fourteen years Cassidy has paid for flowers to be placed on the grave of Bentley Tyson III, a former Vietnam vet, from some Podunk little town in Alabama,” Grant explained. “When I learned that bit of information, I knew that Tyson had meant something to Cassidy. So I had my detective investigate a little further. Seems Tyson saved Cassidy’s life in Nam.”

Winn frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. What good is this information if Tyson is dead?”

“Tyson had a younger sister.”

“I see, sir. What significance—?”

“Maggie Tyson Douglas has a fourteen-year-old son.”

“I don’t follow you, sir,” Winn admitted sheepishly. “Tyson’s sister and nephew wouldn’t mean anything to Cassidy, would they?”

“Oh, yes, but they do, my friend. They do. They mean more to him than he realizes. Especially the boy.” Euphoria unlike any he had ever known suffused Cullen’s very soul. “After we’ve arranged to bring Bent Douglas here for a little visit, I plan to telephone Cassidy and tell him just how important Maggie Douglas’s child is to him.”

“I’m confused, sir.” Winn’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You’re inviting this boy here to the fort?”

Cullen shot to his feet, clamped his hand down on Winn’s shoulder and smiled broadly. “We’re going to insist the young man come for a visit. You see, Colonel Sherman, Bent Douglas is Egan Cassidy’s kid and the man doesn’t even know it.”