“Santo Ferrina.”
She sensed more than saw him go still. Her stomach was in knots and the last thing she wanted was food, but she pulled a couple of bowls from the cabinet anyway. The aroma of roasted chicken and savory broth filled her nose when she opened Sean’s container.
She was pouring the soup when Fionn’s body hit her, pinning her to the counter. Hot liquid splashed over her hand.
“Ferrina is dead.”
The burn sizzling along her skin brought tears her eyes. “No, Ferrina Senior is dead. Junior is very much alive.”
“That’s impossible.”
Because Junior had “died” in a motorcycle accident not long after Ferrina was convicted. Santo Ferrina Sr. had been knifed in prison three years ago. That’s when Fionn had stopped worrying about his mother. Lyse wished she didn’t have to bring that worry back into his life all over again, but sometimes dead men didn’t stay dead.
“Not much is impossible nowadays. You know that, Fionn.”
He pressed harder. “Tell me what you know about Ferrina.”
Bossy Fionn was starting to piss her off, knife or not. She cursed, shaking the sting from her fingers. “I know everything; I’m smart, remember?” And you’ve become an asshole. “Can I rinse my hand, or are burns one of your torture options now?”
Fionn’s curses were far more colorful than hers, especially with the Irish accent, but he backed off, allowing her to move to the sink. The cool water soothed the pain searing her skin, and she let it run, a cheerful counterpoint to the weight of her words. “I know Ferrina Sr. was your father’s partner at Dublin International Banking. I know about the money they embezzled, and I know Ferrina Sr. murdered your father after he double-crossed Ferrina and wouldn’t tell where the money was. I know Ferrina was convicted a decade ago and died in prison.”
She turned the water off and reached for a dish towel, taking a few moments to pat her skin dry. Giving Fionn a cautious sideways glance, she moved to wipe up the spilled soup. His expression was completely closed off, revealing nothing, but the knife wasn’t in his hand any longer. That was a good sign, right?
“You could’ve read that in my personnel file. What is it having to do with his son?”
Throwing the dirty towel into the sink, she turned to face him. The edge of the counter dug into her back, steadying her. “To explain that, I need to show you something.”
“What?”
He wasn’t going to like this. She knew it, but that didn’t mean she could avoid it. “A couple of nights ago I caught something on camera that I think you need to see.”
Fionn’s narrowed gaze bored into her. She waited, barely daring to breathe, while he made his decision. No amount of pleading or arguing would convince him about this any more than it would convince him that she hadn’t meant to hurt him two months ago. He’d make up his own mind.
“What did you find?” he finally asked.
Relief sent a rush of fatigue through her. “It’s in the computer room.”
He gestured for her to lead the way. In her workroom the stiff chair that was the bane of her existence waited. Just looking at it made her hips hurt. Sliding onto the seat was even worse.
Her hand settled on the mouse. Fionn’s broad palm slapped down on top of it, sending pain flaring through her burns.
She waited.
“I don’t trust you,” he said in her ear. “I’ll never trust you.”
His rough voice scraped her insides like rocks. “I know.”
“Show me.” Slowly Fionn drew his hand away.
She clicked the mouse. The screen came on. Navigating through a series of folders, she found the video surveillance she needed, but when she opened the file, Fionn called her some very un-nice names.
She blinked back the tingle of tears and told herself to grow a freaking spine.
“That’s my mam’s cottage.”
Lyse knew that. Why else would she have a camera on it? Rather than argue about good intentions, she fast-forwarded to the part he needed to see.
At least this time the curse words weren’t directed at her. Would Fionn laugh if she told him that every time he said feck, she heard frack and wondered if he’d watched Battlestar Galactica too? Her left hand moved instinctively to the side, near the area of her desk that had held her sci-fi bobbleheads back when she’d been at Global First, but all that greeted her fingers was empty air.
Get on with it, Lyse.
A couple of clicks and she’d isolated the man standing under the trees at the side of Siobhan’s yard. “This guy appeared two nights ago.” The section enlarged, allowing Fionn a close-up, grainy view of the shadowed face. “I was able to do some cleanup on the image and came up with this.”
A slightly sharper image of the man appeared on the screen.
“Who is he?” Fionn growled. The hint of fear in his voice knotted her stomach. He was afraid for his mother.
He should be. Lyse was. Nothing else could’ve induced her to risk revealing her position.
“A foot soldier. Who he is isn’t important,” she said. “It’s really all about who he works for. I did some digging—”
“I bet.”
She ignored the muttered comment. He might thank her later, though she doubted it. “Rumor has it he works for a group called the Irish Cartel.” A few clicks and she’d pulled up the intel she’d gathered on their mystery dead man. “Guess who runs the Irish Cartel.”
She scooted back enough to allow Fionn closer to the monitor, but really all he needed was to see the first file—an image of a small group of men walking a crowded street. The only image she’d been able to find of what most intelligence contacts believed to be the head of the Cartel. She’d cleaned it up, focused it, enlarged it. There was zero doubt that the man in the center was Santo Ferrina Jr.
When Fionn straightened, his jaw was granite-hard. “What is the Irish Cartel?”
She clicked on that file next. “Bad news. They first surfaced just after Ferrina’s father was arrested, often in connection with a job—bank heist, robbery, that kind of thing.”
“Keeping himself bankrolled.”
She nodded. “Over the years they’ve gotten increasingly bolder, coming to the notice of European intelligence.”
Fionn was scanning her file. A little whistle escaped him, his breath warming the sensitive skin where he’d bitten her neck earlier. A shiver shot down her spine. “These are some big jobs.”
“And violent ones. He’s known for taking out rivals with impunity—and their families. Their friends. Sometimes their communities if it serves his purpose. Ferrina has more of a scorched-earth policy than anything else.”
Lyse’s stomach lurched at the thought of Siobhan alone in that cottage. Robert McCullough and Santo Ferrina Sr. had embezzled millions before they’d been caught. Robert had been murdered, and Ferrina went to prison, but no one had found the money. Knowing she was in danger, Fionn had hid his mother in a small Irish village no one would associate with her, under an assumed identity no one but Fionn knew.
Until now, because it seemed as if Ferrina had traced Siobhan McCullough down.
Fionn stood, and she turned in her seat to watch him pace. He’s always thought better when he was moving. The problem was, they didn’t have a lot of time to think. The man watching Siobhan hadn’t made a move yet, but there was little doubt he’d contacted Ferrina by now.
“Your mother is in danger, Fionn.” Whether Ferrina was after the money or simply revenge, he wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted.
Fionn rounded on her. “Who exactly is she in danger from, Lyse? You found my mam. You were watching her house. You brought me here, where Ferrina is most likely waitin’. Did you do that for yourself or for him? How am I to know you’re not working together?”
Chapter Six
“Why would I warn you about Ferrina if I was working for him?”
Those wide, innocent eyes, looking up at him with so much hurt, tried to sucker him ev
ery time. He wouldn’t allow it. “To lure me here. To be setting us up so Ferrina can trap two birds at once, have a better chance at finding the money.” He leaned in, grabbing her chair on either side of her shoulders. “I’ve got news for you both—there is no money. If we’d known where it was, we would’ve been after giving it back a long time ago.”
She didn’t flinch away, not like the last time he’d pinned her to a chair. “I’m not working for Ferrina, and I’m not after any money, Fionn.”
“Prove it.”
Her eyes went dark, sad, and her hand rose toward his face. Instinct had him grabbing her wrist, holding it away from him. She did flinch then, from his grip on her arm. Her eyes watered, so close he could see the pupils dilate in response to the pain. “You’re never going to forgive me, are you?” she said. Her voice was low and heavy with an emotion he refused to believe was genuine. “Why can’t you understand? I—”
He threw her wrist away from him, straightening abruptly. “Save it. I think I made my position clear, Lyse.” He leaned in again. “You don’t deserve forgiveness.”
Lyse surged out of the chair. The move forced him back, the shock of her aggression pushing him into warrior mode. His hands came up, ready to defend himself, but instead of attacking, Lyse spun away. “You’re a liar,” she said, voice vibrating with anger.
“I think you’re after getting that backward, Bat Girl.”
Her eyes flashed. “You say I don’ deserve forgiveness? Then why did you kiss me? You never kiss your women, ever, but you kissed me.”
Her words registered in his brain a second before a roar left his mouth. He charged, forcing Lyse against the wall and slamming his fists on either side of her head. “You were watching me?”
Lyse went white, but she didn’t answer. Smart woman. What little control he had left might not survive more of her lies. Leaning all his weight into the wall, he brought his mouth to her ear. “I didn’t kiss ya, Lyse. You. Kissed. Me.”
Her breath was coming in little pants that warmed the side of his neck. “But—”
“Don’t.” He clamped down on the anger fecking him up inside. “Just don’t.” A deep breath should’ve calmed him; instead it stretched his lungs, pushing his chest against Lyse’s full tits. He’d never realized how full they were, not with those shapeless plaid jumpers she wore and how tiny she—
He shouldn’t be noticin’, not with this wan. Not her build and definitely not her tits. Or that her nipples were hard, and his cock was wanting to join them.
He shoved himself away.
“We’re heading on,” he growled.
Lyse didn’t answer right away. He could feel her gathering herself, refocusing on the task at hand. He was doing the same, and it pissed him the hell off. Why did he keep reacting to this woman? Was it the danger of being close to someone he knew would stab him in the back at the first opportunity? He’d never been drawn to a woman like that, so why now? Why her?
Lyse cleared her throat cautiously. “Where are we going?”
“The cottage.” He had to get his mam away before Ferrina showed up. “How long have they been watching her?”
“Tonight would be three nights altogether. They have someone nearby during the day as well.”
He kept his back to her, willing the tight fit of his fatigues to ease. “You’re having the surveillance live, yeah? Pull it up.” He waved a hand at the computer.
Lyse eased into her chair like she was the one with something to be afraid of. Like she was the one who’d been betrayed. He didn’t comment; instead he watched as Lyse pulled up tonight’s video. Sure enough, their new friend was there in the shadows. “Damn.”
Lyse stared at the screen a moment, then turned to him. “Do you have a hat?”
“Have a what?”
“A hat.”
What the feck did that have to do with anythin’? “Why?”
Lyse sighed like he wasn’t very bright. That look on anyone else and he would be laughing. He gritted his teeth. “You’re trying to figure out how to get past the watchdog, right? If we can conceal your identity somehow, all we have to do is walk up to the door. Your mother’s a popular woman; she has visitors all the time. Two more wouldn’t be suspicious, but we don’t want Ferrina getting wind of who her visitor is.”
True. He hadn’t brought a hat with his gear, but rummaging in the apartment closets, Lyse found a newsboy cap and a pair of reading glasses. Fionn put them on, knowing that covering the distinct color of his hair was half the battle to concealing his identity. He hefted his backpack and turned to see Lyse collecting her keys from the kitchen table.
“You won’t be needin’ those,” he warned her. “We’re not returning here.” He’d be getting her and his mam on a plane to the States as soon as possible.
Lyse frowned. “Like hell.”
“Hell is what you’ll experience when we get back to Global First.”
She stared him down, defiance glaring back at him as she slipped the keys into the pocket of her jumper before buttoning it up. He didn’t argue further. She could try to defy him, but it wouldn’t stop him.
He led the way out of the unit, careful to check for company before stepping onto the small patio. Lyse closed the door behind her, and he grasped her wrist, wanting her close to his side. She muttered a curse as he dragged her down the steps.
“You know, hauling me around isn’t going to help if you want cover.”
“Oh? And what would help? Holding your hand like a lover?”
“Yes,” she said, her tone telling him she’d rather kick him in the balls. She had a point, though he didn’t want to be admitting it. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be holdin’ her hand; it was too intimate, too vulnerable. Cuffing her to him gave him distance. His prisoner, nothing more.
Was he really that afraid of a traitor, a wee one at that?
He eased his grip and slid his hand down until his fingers tangled with hers. Their palms pressed together. Lyse shot him a surprised look, then focused ahead again. No smart-arse I told you so. She seemed to delight in doing what he least expected.
The difference between the Lyse he’d known for the past four years and this Lyse threw him off balance. The old Lyse hadn’t the backbone of this one, wouldn’t have been one to argue with him, much less kiss him. She’d been timid, blushing and stumbling over her words whenever he was near. The new Lyse was more self-contained, less fearful—she fought back. And God, that kiss—
He shook off the memory, his lips tightening. The old Lyse had been a lie; he knew that now. The hero worship he’d soaked up hadn’t been real. Now, here, he felt more like he’d peeled back her layers and found the harder core of her. She might still be betraying him, probably was betraying him, but at least she wasn’t playacting anymore.
That this new Lyse got him a helluva lot harder than the old one was something he’d really rather not be thinking about. Ever.
It was half eight, not so late in the evening that the streets were empty, but few people lingered at this time on a weeknight. His mam’s cottage was a ten-minute walk from Lyse’s apartment. They circled around to approach from the north, on the opposite side from their new friend. Fionn kept his face down and turned toward Lyse as if they were sharing an intimate conversation as they entered the path at the front of the house and walked up to the door. Lyse stiffened at his side, reminding him that she was used to being behind a computer screen, not in the field where the enemy was a physical, threatening presence, not a shadow of pixels that couldn’t touch you, hurt you. He tightened his fingers on hers, whether to keep her from escaping or to reassure her, he refused to think about.
At the front door he raised his hand and knocked. Only when the knob turned did it fully strike him that he was about to be seeing his mam for the first time in years. He would be face-to-face with the woman he’d given up his life for, the only person in the world who knew him inside and out. She was here, now, on the other side of this door. He wouldn’t admit it t
o anyone, but his throat closed up, his heartbeat thumping hard in his ears as the door opened and a shaft of light fell across them.
“Lyse, dear! I wasn’t expecting you till the weekend. Come in.”
She wasn’t looking directly at him. Waiting, he soaked in the sight of her—the thick auburn hair she’d passed on to him, clear blue eyes with the faintest lines around them. She was in her midfifties now but could easily pass for a decade younger, still lithe and vibrating with energy just as she had when he was younger. Christ, she was a beautiful sight.
Lyse moved inside, their entwined hands pulling him with her. Emotion welled in his chest until he wasn’t sure he could speak without tears.
“Who’s your young man, then?” his mam was asking.
He was after keeping his face turned away from the door until it closed, not wanting Ferrina’s man to catch a good glimpse, but now he tugged off the cap and glasses and allowed his mam a straight-on look.
“Fionn!”
Her shout of surprise echoed in his ears seconds before her arms circled his throat. The scent of vanilla and spice filled his nose, that same as he remembered from his childhood. It was warmth and adventure and love wrapped in a lungful of air, and he took another one, wanting to saturate himself with it, wanting the reality that his mam was in his arms after so long apart to truly sink in.
“Mam.”
Her grip was tight, almost choking, but he wasn’t protestin’, not when he felt the wet warmth of tears on his neck. His arms around her were just as tight. They held on for long moments, and it wasn’t until Lyse began removing her coat beside them that the reality of why he was here resurfaced. Gently he eased back to meet his mam’s tearful gaze.
What did he say after all this time?
“What— How—” Siobhan looked from him to Lyse, stuttering. Having the same problem as him, apparently.
“I’ll explain, Mam.” He reached over and turned the lock on the door, then ushered her into the living room with a hand at her back. Lyse moved ahead of them without prompting.
“Whatever are you doing here, Fionn?” Keeping her hand on his arm, she gazed between him and Lyse. “How do you two know each other?”
Destroy Me (Southern Nights: Enigma Book 3) Page 4
