by Desiree Holt
“I’m afraid it is, kiddo. He had me call his boss to verify who he was. Then the two DEA agents who came to collect our erstwhile customer also vouched for him. And believe me, I double checked everyone’s creds.”
Mary couldn’t move, nausea bubbling up in her mouth.
“Is that what he was doing here? Working on a case?”
Tris nodded. “I don’t know whether to shake his hand for fixing a problem that could have meant big trouble for us or knock his teeth down his throat for suspecting you.”
Her blood chilled, and her eyes widened. “Me? He suspected me? Of what?”
Tris drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he sat in the desk chair, reached over, and took her hands.
Oh, this is so not going to be good.
“Just let me get it all out before you say anything. I’ve got to tell my father about it and hope he doesn’t have a heart attack. But I wanted to get you squared away first.”
As she listened to the story, she clasped her hands together tightly to keep them from shaking, and she felt an incredible sickness fill her system. He told her about her landlord, the illegal arms dealer. About the odd coincidence of her arriving in Baltimore, getting the job at the pub, and renting the other half of the duplex at the exact moment the dealer and the gangs had lost their usual method of communication.
“And they thought he was using me to pass information to the gangs from the pub?” Anger surged through her, replacing the icy chill and kicking the nausea to the curb. No, not anger. Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. “And the pub got involved in this. He thought the pub was part of it.”
“Believe me, I’m just as angry as you.”
Tris reached for her hands again, but she yanked them away.
“If I had a gun, I’d shoot him. Right now.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So, where is he now? I hope he doesn’t have the nerve to come back in here.”
“He knocked the asshole out so he could control him, and before he could make a fuss. Then he tied him up and waited for the DEA agents to come and collect him. He’d called his boss who apparently had the locals on speed dial.”
“How did he get him to just leave the pub like that?”
“Darlin’, guys like him know a million ways to hurt you, very quietly.” He sighed. “That’s only part of it.”
She waved her hand in the air. “Let’s hear it.”
“It turns out the person passing the info on shipments was none other than our sweet Jana Workman, her of the beautiful voice. She’s your landlord’s stepdaughter who, for some reason, doesn’t show up in his files.”
“What?” Mary’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Are you kidding me?”
“I wish. That guy she high fived? That’s how she passed the slip of paper.”
“I-I don’t quite know what to say.” She brushed hair back from her face. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“Join the club. The feds want us to let the duo finish the night and keep them in here after the last set on some pretext until everyone’s gone. They’re kind enough not to want to disrupt the bar. Then they’ll come in and take both of them into custody. They aren’t sure if Finch is involved or not.”
“Oh my god, Tris.” She rubbed her face. “How can I keep watching them all night?”
“The same way I will, kiddo. Because we’re better than they are.”
“He actually thought it was me passing information?”
Tris shrugged. “I guess from his standpoint it was logical. The minute the old network is down, here you come, renting half of Mitchell’s duplex, working in the pub, and the info is still getting out.”
“He’s not coming back in here. Right?” She glared at Tris. “You won’t let him back?”
Tris paused. “He wants to talk to you.”
“No!” She practically shouted the word. “I don’t want to see his ugly face anywhere near me.”
“I told him as much. So no, he won’t be back. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try to contact you. See you.”
“I’ll take care of that. Believe me.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Pat’s voice called out, “Is it safe for an old man to come in?”
Tris got up and opened the door for his father. “Come on in, Pop.”
Pat looked at Mary. “Lass, are you okay?”
Mary pulled herself together. She’d done it before, and she could do it again.
“I will be, Pat Thanks for asking. Tris, I’m going back to the bar. I’m better off if I’m working.”
“Gotcha. But we’re here—all of us—if you need anything.”
Mary blinked back the tears that wanted to spill onto her cheeks.
“Thanks. You don’t know how much that means to me.” Using all the skills she’d acquired working with clients when she had to put on her game face, she tamped down the feelings swirling inside her and even managed a tiny smile. “I’ll see you back out there.”
She had no idea how she got through the rest of the night. Thank god it was so busy she could run on autopilot. She tried not to look at the stool at the end of the bar. When Marcus didn’t come back, someone else finally appropriated it, another reminder of how disastrous this situation was. She did notice that Jana Workman kept looking toward the door, obviously wondering where her friend was.
When The Two of Us finished their last set, they spent another fifteen minutes talking to the friends who came up to say good-bye. Mary couldn’t help but notice the glass tip jar on the edge of the stage was jammed full. She hoped it was enough to pay for a good lawyer.
Pat sat in his usual place, watching the scene with cold eyes. Mary hoped he never looked at her that way. Tris stood at the stage, casually chatting with them while Paddy ushered the last of the patrons out the front door. Then he locked it. When she heard the click of the lock, loud in the sudden silence, Jana looked nervously from Tris to Paddy and back to Tris. She even glanced at Mary, who was still as a stone statue.
“Well,” Jana said, picking up her large tote, “I think we’ll be going now. Tomorrow comes too soon.”
Finch picked up his guitar and his backpack.
“Not just yet,” Tris told them.
He nodded at Paddy, who motioned toward the little hallway to the office. Two men in dark jackets and jeans, wearing badges on chains around their necks, walked in and up to the stage. Jana turned so pale Mary thought the woman might faint. Finch just stared as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. She wondered if he actually knew what was going on.
“Mort Walker, DEA,” the taller one said. “We’ll need you both to come with us.”
Jana clutched her purse to her body. “What’s going on? Tris, what’s this all about?”
“They know, Jana,” he told her in an icy voice. “Just go along with them. Now.”
She deflated like a balloon with the air let out. Finch just looked shell-shocked.
It took a few minutes, but soon they were out the back door, Jana, Finch and the two agents. Tris came back into the bar and took down a bottle of his favorite brandy. Without asking, he poured four shots and handed them around.
“I think we can all use this,” he said. “Drink up. Then, Mary, I’m taking you home. Marcus told me you’d need a ride.”
Just the sound of his name caused pain to lance through her like a sharp sword. As she tossed back the brandy, she wondered how she’d ever move beyond everything.
Pat walked over and put his arms around her. “We’ll get you through this, darlin’. Don’t worry. You’re one of us, and we take care of our own.”
That was almost her undoing. But she somehow managed to murmur a thank you, gather her purse and jacket, and let Tris lead her out to his car. She was silent on the ride to her place, grateful Tris didn’t try to start a conversation. When he started to get out of the car to walk her to the door, she shook her head.
“I’m good. Go on back to your family.”
“Mayb
e you should stay with us for tonight. Damn. I should have thought of that before.”
“I’ll be fine.” She managed a smile. “Really. I didn’t even know him that long.”
“You’ll call if you need someone?”
“I’ll do that. Good night, Tris. Thank you, and thank everyone for me.”
“Better be at work tomorrow.” He grinned at her. “I hear the boss can be a tyrant if you miss your shift.”
“He has no worries. Right now, the job is what’s saving me.”
She made it into the house, turned the locks then slid to the floor and leaned against the door. And let the tears flow.
Chapter Nine
Mary parked her car behind the pub and walked in through the back door, pasting a smile on her face. She refused to wear her misery like a gown. She had no one to blame but herself for this. She was a big girl who had gone into this with her eyes wide open. She had wanted one wild ride with Mr. Motorcycle and a Yamaha VMax, and that was exactly what she got. Good thing she wasn’t looking for anything else or she’d be in bad shape.
She’d managed to work Saturday night, although both Tristan and Pat urged her to take the night off. “With pay,” they told her.
But staying home would have been a disaster. As it was, when she got home Friday night, she fell into bed and indulged in a crying jag like nothing she’d ever done before. That just wasn’t her style. And Karen, bless her, hadn’t bitched about a three a.m. call, nor did she point out to Mary the folly of falling for a man she really knew nothing about. And the bustle of a Saturday night at the pub had been just what she needed.
Sunday morning, she awoke to the ringing of her doorbell. She stumbled downstairs, peeked through the spyhole in the door, and saw Marcus on her doorstep.
“Go away,” she shouted.
“Just let me talk to you,” he pleaded. “Give me ten minutes to explain. Five. Anything.”
“No. And if you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.”
To her surprise, he actually got on his bike and left.
But then her phone began to ring, so often she finally turned it off. Deciding shopping therapy was what she needed, she headed for a nearby mall where she spent the day in a manic shopping spree. When she got home, she was careful to be on the lookout for a macho man on a macho motorcycle, but there was no sign of him. She also noticed there was some kind of official lock apparatus on her landlord’s door, which begged another question. Was she going to have to find another place to live?
The arrests had been on all the newscasts.
DEA Breaks Gun Smuggling Ring in Baltimore.
Although the stories gave a lot of details, they did not mention Pat’s Irish Pub. She wasn’t sure who did the arm twisting—Marcus, his boss, or the DEA—but the reports only referred to a local bar. Thank the lord for that, at least.
That night she put herself to bed with half a bottle of wine, fell asleep, and dreamed about the poster in her old office. Only this time, the face of the rider belonged to Marcus Tyree. She awoke more distressed and anguished than when she’d gone to sleep. She wasn’t sure which disturbed her the most: the fact that he’d used her as part of his cover or that he’d thought she might be the connection between Mitchell and the gang.
The phone calls continued for two more days, and then, blessedly, they stopped. In the past three days, she’d managed to pull herself together, mostly by digging for the corporate Mary and shutting her emotions away. Each day it got a little easier, especially with the wonderful Collins family rallying around her.
Pasting a smile on, she opened the back door and walked into the pub. Tristan was just coming out of the office and stopped to take a look at her.
“I’m okay,” she assured him, just like she had for the past four days. “Really. Fine.”
But Tris held up a hand to stop her. “Are you really? I know you’ve been working all your shifts and doing your usual damn fine job.”
She frowned. “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“But are you really okay? Because I don’t think I am. I’m pissed as hell that anyone would think this pub was a place for criminals to pass messages. Or do anything for that matter.” He scowled. “Not to mention the fact that I was the one who told those two pieces of garbage they could play here.” He made a rude noise. “No wonder they made it so attractive for me, not asking for anything but their tip money.”
“What did you tell me not just two days ago? ‘It’s done. Over with. Now it’s time to get past it.’”
“Throw my own words back at me,” he growled, “why don’t you.”
“Only so you can take a dose of your own medicine.” She sighed “Listen. I was the idiot who was flattered by his attention. Who thought being with him would be an adventure. So let’s both say we’re moving forward, okay?”
“God, Mary. Some fine man is going to be very lucky to get you.” Then he smiled at her. “But you’d better let us vet him for you.”
That gave her the first real laugh in days.
“I’ll put it on my list. Anyway, I’d better get to work. My boss is a real slave driver.”
Today, she was working the early hours, which left her less time at home in the morning to brood. Thank the lord for that.
“Before you do that,” Tris said, “Pop wants to talk to you.”
“Oh lordy.” She rolled her eyes. “Am I going to get ‘the talk’? Like a teenager?”
Tris choked on a laugh. “Maybe, but not like you think. Go on, now. He’s waiting.”
Sure enough. There he was at his usual stool, nursing a mug of coffee, jabbering with one of his cronies.
Mary stowed her purse, as usual making sure her cell was turned off. She checked for calls and texts a couple of times a day, mostly because Karen would arrive on a broomstick if she cut herself off altogether. Sighing, she smoothed her ponytail, squared her shoulders, and went to talk to Pat, who was watching her intently. The man sitting next to him grabbed his mug and moved a few stools away.
“Good morning, Pat.” Mary gave him a hug. “Tris said you wanted to see me?”
His old eyes studied her carefully. She knew he was taking in every detail, from the circles beneath her eyes she couldn’t quite conceal to the paleness of her face to the agony that still flashed in her eyes.
“You’re looking a little peaked, darlin’,” he told her. “You need to sleep better.”
Mary gave a short laugh. “I’m working on it.”
“You know, that man of yours did us a big favor, using all the clout he could gather to keep the name of the pub out of the news reports.”
“First of all,” she snapped, “he’s not my man. And, second, if he hadn’t been here, there would have been no need to think about keeping the place out of the news.”
“Mary, Mary, Mary.” He shook his head. “The stuff was going on right under our noses. Messages from an illegal arms dealer to the crud buying it from him. He was sent here to ferret it out, and he did. Without him handling it, it could have gone down a lot worse. I promise you, the feds didn’t give a shit about Pat’s Irish Pub.”
“But he—”
Pat held up his hand. “He got the man outside without any fuss, had him arrested where no one could see what was happening, and kept us out of the reports. No easy task.”
“Oh, so now he’s a big hero, and we should just forget how he…how he…”
Damn it. There went the tears again. Pat handed her napkins from the bar, so she could wipe her eyes. She’d need a quick makeup repair before she took up her station behind the bar.
Pat took one of her hands in both of his.
“We shouldn’t forget anything. He did you wrong, and he knows it, and it’s tearing him up.”
She stared at him. “And you know this because…?”
“Because he took me to breakfast this morning, me and Tris, and blubbered all over his food.”
Her eyes widened. “Blubbered? Marcus Tyree? I don’t believe that.”<
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Pat chuckled. “Okay, maybe blubber is the wrong word. But, Mary, the man is in pain. He’s hurting a lot.”
“He deserves it.”
Pat nodded. “He does, and I told him so. But he really cares for you, and he’s suffering mightily because of what he had to do.”
“He used me,” she cried. “He disrespected me. He—” She waved a hand in front of her face as tears started again.
“Listen to what I’m saying. The man could have gotten on that big machine of his and headed home when everything was done. Right? That is, if there was nothing else keeping him here. But he stayed. Because I can see you’ve become very special to him. He was just doing his job here, and it kills him that he hurt you in the process.”
She looked down at her hands. “I can’t believe you’re defending him.”
“Because I believe he’s a good man. He’s had a lot of anguish in his life, not the least of which was having to deceive you.”
“He made it a point to talk to you the other night. Didn’t you suspect anything then?”
He shrugged. “Sad to say, must be getting old because no, he just seemed like a nice young man who didn’t want to get his ass thrown out of here because he had the hots for my bartender. So be mad at me if you want to.”
She shook her head. “I could never be mad at you. I guess I’m really mad at myself for not seeing through him.”
Pat looked at her with a world of understanding in his eyes. “You’re like my own child, Mary, and I’ll tell you what I’d tell any of my girls. It’s up to you, but I sense goodness in him, the kind you can’t fake. I’d give the man a chance. You have nothing to lose, right?”
Mary sighed. “I guess not. But only because you vouch for him.”
“Good. Very good, darlin’.” He smiled at her. “He should be at the back door by now. Go on.”
“B-but I have to work. I—” She looked down the bar and saw Paddy standing where she usually did, grinning and nodding. “This is a big plot, isn’t it,” she accused.
“It is. So don’t let it go to waste.”
She started to get her purse, but Tris already had it and handed it to her.
