by D. N. Leo
“The kind that would invite you to his home at this wee hour.” Riley chuckled.
Lorcan shook his head and stepped up to the patio. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Now he felt really dizzy, and that he was sure was caused by the alcohol, not his necrophobia. Riley grabbed at him. “Oh geez, you reek of booze. You drove here in this condition? I think you might be the fucking idiot!”
“I told you not to buy this cottage. People died in old houses. You know . . . dead bodies . . . corpses,” Lorcan mumbled.
“All right, come on in and check out if there were corpses in this house.”
Riley tried to help, but Lorcan pushed him away and reeled into the house. “Let me crash on your couch for a few hours. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess. Since when did you turn into an alcoholic?”
Lorcan flopped into the sofa. “I’m not. Just tonight. I didn’t think. And yes, I’m an idiot. On all accounts.” Lorcan grinned foolishly.
Riley fetched a glass of water and gave it to him. “You guys fought again? Orla called earlier on.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing much. Asking about Noah and if you were here.”
Lorcan emptied his glass. “What’s wrong with me?” Lorcan asked.
“Where do I start?” Riley sneered.
“That’s why she doesn’t love me?”
“She said that?”
Lorcan shook his head. “Worse. She said nothing.”
“You’ve got to move on, Lorcan. You’re thirty-two, not eighteen. Grow up.”
“Orla is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I bought her the fucking ring. I’m going to ask her to marry me, you know . . .”
“And she said no? That’s why you’re here, looking like shit?”
“I haven’t asked her. I mean I haven’t asked her directly.”
“Is there an indirect way of doing it? You bought the bloody ring, how much more direct can it be?”
“There are things she hasn’t told me. I don’t know what they are. But until we’re clear on that, she’s not going to give me a straight answer.” Lorcan ruffled his hair. “I love her.”
Riley shook his head. “Love doesn’t mean shit these days. I don’t think she’s good for you. I mean, I like Orla very much. But the way you two lurk around, you’ll get nothing. You’ll die old and lonely.”
Lorcan cocked an eyebrow. “Love doesn’t mean shit? Why haven’t you moved on? Michelle has been gone for ten years.”
“She died giving birth to Noah. It’s more than love. It’s a lifetime responsibility. No, I’m not the best dad on the planet. But we have decent lives. Given where I came from, this is the best it’s going to get for Noah and me. But you come from a prestigious family, you have the best education available to you. You can get any girl you want . . .”
“I think we best leave it right there, Riley . . .”
Riley shrugged. “I’m just saying. You don’t have many friends who are willing to kick your ass for nothing.”
“Indeed, I don’t . . . Listen, regarding what I said the other day, I’m serious about you taking Noah elsewhere for the medical attention he needs. If you worry about the money, I can . . .”
“It’s not the money. We’ve been through every test possible with the technology available to date. Even if the technology is not available to the public yet, you think my colleagues won’t flex their muscles for me? We’ve done everything we could, and we found nothing.”
“Is it getting worse, though?”
Riley nodded and sank into his sofa. “Early tonight, the pain was so bad that he threw up. He told me he was okay, but I knew it was unbearable. Sometime I wish . . . I wish it were a brain tumor that he had. At least we’d know what we’re dealing with.”
“How can you say such a thing about your son? Oh, Jesus, I’m sorry. How could I be so thoughtless, sitting here nagging about my love affairs?” Lorcan hopped off his sofa.
“Don’t worry. He’s asleep now. He’ll be glad to see you tomorrow morning.”
Noah’s scream from the bedroom sent the men surging to their feet and storming toward the bedroom wing. In his bedroom, Noah was on the floor, still clutching his blanket and screaming at the top of his lungs. His fair face was clammy, his brown hair tangled and soaked in sweat, his eyes almost blank. He convulsed with the pain and vomited. Riley scooped Noah up from the floor and carried him back to the bed. He wrapped the blanket around him, held his son in his arms, and rocked. Noah stopped screaming, but he still shivered.
“Ssshh, good boy, you’re okay. We’re okay,” Riley whispered and kept rocking.
“You have to take him to the hospital!” Lorcan exclaimed.
“To do what? We’ve been through this before. I’m a doctor. Don’t you think I know better? You think I wouldn’t do it if it helped?” Riley’s eyes filled with rage.
Noah’s shiver subdued. His face gained some color, and his eyes had returned to normal. He blinked and looked at Lorcan.
“Uncle Lorcan, please don’t go away.”
“I’m here.” Lorcan climbed into bed, took Noah from Riley, and held the boy in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere. Now if you’re a good boy, you’ll go back to sleep. Okay?”
“Don’t go away. It’s dangerous out there,” Noah whispered, half asleep.
“Okay. I’ll stay right here.”
“They’ll hurt you. I don’t want you to get hurt,” Noah said and fell into a deep sleep. Lorcan frowned and looked at Riley.
“What was he talking about?” Lorcan asked.
“That’s what he’s been saying over and over for the last five days. ‘It’s dangerous out there.’ But the part that you’ll get hurt is new.”
“I’m a computer geek. How can I get hurt? Be bitten by computer bugs? Killed playing computer games?”
“You know what you’re actually doing, Lorcan. You think I’m stupid? You don’t take money from your family. I don’t think your IT job can allow for your current lifestyle in London. Whatever it is that you’re doing with Orla, I think you’re wasting your life and your privilege.”
“Don’t start,” Lorcan growled.
“I’m not starting anything. I just want to stop your nonsense. As I said, I like Orla, but not enough to watch you waste away your life and your opportunities. You’re like a brother to me. If she’s going to support you, great. If not, move on, Lorcan.” Riley turned on his heel and left the room.
Chapter 6
It was a rare winter day when the sun came up bright and early. Riley answered a door knock and found Orla there with a small cage and a bag in her hands.
“I thought Noah would like this little friend.” She raised the small cage with the kitten inside. Riley smiled and gestured an invitation for her to come in.
“They’re still as sleep. I’ll give them another hour. What kind of cat is this?”
“I don’t know. The poor little soul lost his mother the night before. We could have taken care of him, but we travel a lot as you know. I don’t have the heart to bring him to a shelter.” Orla glanced at the bedroom wing. Riley caught her look.
“He’s in there with Noah.”
“May I?” She gestured toward the bedroom.
Riley nodded. Orla made a beeline to Noah’s bedroom. From the half-opened door, she saw Lorcan lying in bed, propped up in a pile of pillows, sleeping. Noah was snuggling next to him. Lorcan’s hand still clung to a book that had nearly dropped to the floor. He’d make a good father, she thought. Then she shook the thought out of her head. She walked into the room and took the book from Lorcan’s hand. She knew she wouldn’t wake him. When Lorcan was asleep, he wouldn’t wake even if she bulldozed the room. He looked so tired. She wanted to tuck away a loose strand of hair on his forehead, she wanted to give him the ritual morning kiss, but she thought better of it and let the thought pass.
In the living room, Orla found Riley had let the c
at out and was feeding it. “Have you thought more about what I suggested regarding Noah’s conditions?” Orla asked.
“Not until last night.”
Orla narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t approve of my suggestion of letting him speak to a psychic before, but last night you just changed your mind on a whim?”
“Well, Noah kept saying ‘it’s dangerous out there’, and you suggested that he foresees something bad will happen to us. That didn’t make sense because we’re doing just fine except for his migraines. But early last night, Noah said Lorcan would come here. Then Lorcan did come. Then in another episode in the middle of the night, Noah said someone would hurt Lorcan.”
The color drained from Orla’s face. Someone or something would hurt him. She knew it. The hand that had grabbed her in the dungeon was no coincidence.
“Orla!”
“Huh?”
“Do you love him?”
“Of course I love him. He’s only ten and he’s been through so much. I only suggest what I think is best for him.”
“I’m not talking about Noah.”
Orla waved her arms in frustration and let them flop at her side. She didn’t have the answer to this question.
“Being together twelve years isn’t enough for you to answer a simple question? Do you love him?”
“Why are you pressing this? It’s not your problem!”
“He’s like my brother. It is my problem. You should have seen him last night. And if what you said about Noah’s psychic ability is true, then what he said about someone harming Lorcan could be true, too. Whatever you’re making him do, it’s dangerous. It will harm him.”
“I don’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do,” Orla snarled.
“He’s obviously fallen hard for you. So if you don’t love him, let him go.”
“What are you implying?”
“Do you love him?”
“I . . . I . . .”
“See, you can’t even answer a simple question. I’m not implying anything, Orla. I’m saying this straight to your face—if you don’t love him, then get out of his life.”
“What gives you the right to say that to me?”
“If you saw him last night, you wouldn’t ask me that question. He was lucky he didn’t crash and end up in the morgue after pouring that much booze down his throat. What sort of girlfriend would drive him to that after twelve years together, and after he bought you a fucking ring?”
“He . . . he did what?”
“Go and ask him yourself.”
Orla stared at Riley for a moment, then she turned on her heel and stormed out of the house. At the same time, Lorcan called out from the bedroom. He charged into the living room. “What happened?” he asked Riley.
“I asked her to her face if she’s serious about you.”
“Shit . . .” Lorcan darted toward the door. Then he stepped backward inside the house. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
Lorcan stormed away. Riley shook his head and went to Noah’s bedroom.
Chapter 7
Orla stared at her empty apartment. Lorcan loved her. Not that she hadn’t already known that. But he had committed himself. He bought her the ring, and that had triggered the white curse. Orla felt like crying, but it wouldn’t help. She wasn’t the crying type.
The white curse was designed to protect her. She remembered vividly the voice of her distant aunt. When someone loved her, the love would trigger the black curse to kill her. Thus, to protect her, the white curse would harm whomever loved her. What she’d seen in the dungeon was a sign of the black curse.
Everything came back as if it were just yesterday. The fear. The escape. The darkness. All the things she had chosen to exclude from her life were now clawing their way back in.
But she might be overreacting. The curses might be just a myth. A psychological game her family had played on her. A joke by fate. She had dated before Lorcan. Men had sworn love and devotion to her several times. None of them had died. She had been well, and her life had worked out smoothly as planned. She couldn’t explain what happened in the dungeon. It might be just her, the black curse her family had placed on her. If that was the case, then Lorcan should be fine.
“Orla!”
Orla was startled and cursed. She turned around and found Lorcan at the door. He entered the apartment and raised his arms, making peace. “Can we talk?” he asked. Orla nodded. “Let’s forget what was said. I’m sorry it made you feel uneasy. Let’s pretend I didn’t ask anything and you didn’t have to answer anything.”
“Would you do that? Would you do that for me?” Tears rolled down her face. She wasn’t sure it was going to work that way, but it might help.
Lorcan nodded.
“We had an agreement. You’d never say the L word to me, remember? Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything, Orla. I didn’t say it, although I totally don’t understand why I shouldn’t have.”
“You didn’t say it. But you did it. You bought the ring.”
Lorcan winced, but he nodded. “I’ll return it. Will that work? I’ll throw it into the river? Or I’ll give it to Edward the cat.” He approached, tugging at her arms.
“Not Edward.”
“All right. Not Edward. I’ll take it back, whatever it is. Will you forgive me?”
She pulled him in to her arms and nuzzled into his chest.
“I want a deal,” Lorcan said.
Orla arched an eyebrow, and stepped away from Lorcan.
“I want in. If you’re taking this job with William Turk, I have to help you.”
Orla shook her head. Then she looked at Lorcan’s stubborn face, she sighed, and nodded. He approached and pulled her into his arms. They held on to each other for a long moment.
Orla had been following Madeline for hours. Madeline Roux was the journalist from New York who had traveled to London to rescue her best friend Jo, a computer game designer. The kidnapper was Zen. What a stupid name for a kidnapper, Orla thought.
Madeline was hard to miss—a tall, attractive brunette, with big brown eyes and a dimple on her left cheek. The picture her client had given of Madeline didn’t do the woman any justice. Any man who didn’t want to jump Madeline would have serious problems with their masculinity, Orla mused. She’d watched Madeline spend hours at an Internet cafe. Orla sauntered into the cafe, walked past Madeline, and stuck a spy recorder on Madeline’s backpack, unnoticed. Orla was as fast as a . . . thief.
Later, outside the café, Orla pulled out her phone and called Lorcan. “She’s heading toward Knightsbridge. Ouch. It’s going to cost her. She must love her friend very much. Can you get any audio on her yet?”
On the other end of the line, Lorcan chuckled. “Until she speaks, I can’t check the audio.”
It was peak hour. Orla pulled down a zipper on her tailored overcoat and peeled back the black layer to reveal a red under layer. Then she shoved her way through the sea of people and approached Madeline. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Pine Street . . .”
“Sorry. I’m not local. I can’t help you.” Madeline smiled then put her head down and kept walking.
Orla almost swooned at her sexy voice. After Madeline turned the corner, Orla spoke into the phone, “Did you hear that?”
“Yes. Loud and clear. You could have been a bit more subtle.”
“Yeah right.” Orla rolled her eyes. “What a voice she has. You should see the woman in the flesh.”
Lorcan laughed. “If Madeline is that attractive, shouldn’t you be worried rather than enticing me to see her in the flesh?”
“I’m worried for other men. But not you. You’re mine.”
“Oh shit,” Lorcan cursed at the other end of the line.
“What’s up?”
“She must have thrown the bag down. Broke my eardrums. Why don’t you get back home, and we can both listen?”
Orla smiled. “Right away. I’m picking up dinner on the way.” As soon a
s she turned around, she saw a shadow of someone she didn’t care for. A shadow from her past. She paused and looked back. But the shadow had disappeared.
She shook her head. She must have imagined it.
Chapter 8
Orla woke in her bed, feeling the warmth of Lorcan’s body seeping through her skin. All six-foot-one of him wrapped around her body like a blanket. She loved the way their bodies fit together. She shifted and kissed his sleepy face.
“Lorcan.”
“Hummm . . .”
“Darling. Sleepyhead. Don’t you have to go to work today?”
“Humm . . .”
She rubbed her face against his chest, traced her hand along the lean line of his body, and found one part of him awake. She chuckled, kissed him again, and rolled on top of him. He shifted underneath her so that she could straddle him comfortably. His hands grabbed at her hips. His fingers started tracing her sensitized skin. He knew where she liked his hands and how much pressure she wanted. He knew every curve, dip, and tone of her body. She groaned.
The spy device Orla had fastened to Madeline’s backpack transmitted the signals. The sound of Madeline’s voice came from Lorcan’s computer. “Hello. My name is Madeline Roux, I’m a journalist from . . .”
Madeline stopped talking as it appeared that she was interrupted from the person on the other end of the phone.
“I understand that LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals is a private company. All I’m asking for is the information that your PR department can publicize . . . I don’t have that much time . . . Look . . . I’ll make it formal . . .” The conversation didn’t seem to go anywhere. Madeline ended the phone call and muttered, “Four weeks, my ass.”
Lorcan was already up and out of bed. He made two cups of coffee and gave one to Orla. She wouldn’t get out of bed until she’d had her coffee. That was her morning ritual.
“I still think you should pass on this job, Orla.”
“We’ve had this conversation,” Orla grumbled.
