Jim climbed the stairs wearily and warily. The conversation with Grandma was helpful. Maybe Seamus hadn’t come from Hell with plans to pull him into the fiery pit. Jim shivered, but then he thought about Megan. He hoped he could keep his hands to himself and just get the much needed sleep his body craved.
Those kisses, as chaste as he’d wanted to make them, just didn’t feel chaste no matter how hard he’d tried. And they wouldn’t have been chaste for long.
Chapter 12
At the head of the stairs, Megan found the bath while Jim was still safely at the bar. She closed the door, sat on the edge of the tub, and turned on the tap. While the tub filled, she pulled out her cell and called her mother.
“Mam? Am I calling too late?”
“Meggie, so good to hear from you. How is the article coming?”
“We haven’t uncovered much information as yet, but we will. Jim O’Flannery has such a great way of finding information and then piecing it all together. It’s grand to watch him work.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Well, is he nice to be around? What do you think of him personally?”
“Well, I uh.” Megan heaved a sigh. How was she going to bring this up without sounding completely bonkers herself? “Here’s the thing, Mam, he thinks he’s being followed around by uh…” But her tongue stuck to her teeth and she couldn’t form the words.
“Meggie, what are you saying? He’s being followed by what? What are you saying?”
“Oh well, nothing, never mind. He’s good at what he does and I suppose that’s the best thing I can say about him or anyone.”
“Meggie, sometimes I wonder what you are thinking. I have to admit, I did look him up on the Boston Globe web site. He has a good list of articles he’s written, and I read the short biography the paper had next to his picture. I must say Meggie, he’s quite a good-looking man.”
Megan sighed hugely. “Yes, Mam, he is a very good-looking man. I’m sure the little snap you saw does not do him justice. He’s very polite, too. It’s just that…”
“It’s what Meggie? Are you still going on about Richard? The whole relationship has been over for months and months. You must get on with your life and forget that bastard.”
“Mam!”
“No, I mean it! It is time for you to get out of this funk you’ve been in for almost a year and move on. Now, I’m not expecting you to get involved with Jim O’Flannery, but wouldn’t it be nice if—?”
“Mother, I am not going to get involved with Jim or any other man for that matter for a long, long time. I need to get this story finished and that is all. Okay?”
“Very well, Megan.”
She could tell by the sound of her mother’s voice that she’d hurt her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fuss. It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I’ll call you in a few days, all right?”
“Yes, dear. That will be fine. Now, in the meantime, do your articles and be the sweetest girl I know you are with Jim O’Flannery. You don’t have to put on the attitude with him. The two of you have a hard task, so do the best you can.”
“All right, I’ll do the best I can. I’ll call you when I get back to Dublin. It may be a few days, but I’ll call before then if anything important happens.”
“Don’t worry about Jim. I’m sure he’s sound as a penny. It’s probably jet lag. Love you, dear.”
“Bye for now, I love you.”
Megan rang off, and glanced down at the tub that had filled to the edge. She dipped her toe in and pulled it out in a flash, it was so hot! She’d have to wait it out or she’d look like a steamed lobster within minutes. No, she was too tired. She let the water out while she washed her face and teeth, brushed out her hair, and trudged up the stairs to the little attic room she shared with Jim.
****
Jim unlocked the attic room and found one lamp shining dimly from the old metal desk. He looked to the right and saw Megan—all five-ten of her, gloriously stretched out in a bed that looked as though it might have been a version of a medieval torture rack. It did something to him to see the shape of her wonderfully long legs under the blankets. He shook his head. Nope, he was not going to think about it. He sighed and tiptoed to his suitcase, pulled out a robe and his shaving kit, and went out to find the bath.
Jim tried desperately to act nonchalant when he passed people in the hallway dressed only in his robe. He tiptoed back into the room and sat on the side of the bed after he’d showered. He yawned hugely. He was beat, but didn’t think that he could quiet his mind enough to get any sleep. He started to take off his robe and stopped. He didn’t own any pajamas. Well, he supposed he’d use the old underwear routine. He’d slip his robe on in the morning before he got out of the bed, and minimize the shock factor. He looked one more time at the long form of Megan Kennedy stretched out under the covers before he turned off the light.
After several restless minutes, he realized what was keeping him awake.
Her scent.
It floated on the air, swirling about his head. It was lemon and sunshine mixed with something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
His gaze lingered on the opposite wall. The half-moon window above the desk let in a pool of neon light and filtered shadows and the droplets of rain sheeting the outside. Shadows, light on light, dark on dark, fluttered across the floor and wall. Jim watched the raindrops slide down and spatter, the sound lulling his tired body to sleep. He sighed again, turned over, and put his pillow over his nose. Maybe then he could block out her scent.
The rain battered against the hotel, and the rhythm finally eased him into a restful sleep.
****
Megan pulled her lower lip in between her teeth and chewed and chewed until she tasted blood. Bother! How can I keep a perspective when I’m mooning over the man? I must be able to do my job without my head spinning from kissing him. Thought I should die from wanting him when his arm came around me like that. I could have quite swooned like some silly schoolgirl. How am I going to be a good writer with a non-compromised perspective when all I can think about are the man’s hands and lips? Bollocks, ah bollocks! Grow up. Megan chided herself. And she knew she’d get it together. She always did. It might take a while, but she’d get it sorted out.
When Jim had come into the room, she’d tensed. She heard him sit on the other bed, and then thought she heard him taking off his robe. She could see him in her mind’s eye, all glorious six feet three inches, but she had put her mind’s hands over her mind’s eye and tried to sleep. She heard the bed groan under his weight and a sigh filtered across the room. She wondered about the sigh, wondered if it meant he was sorry he kissed her. No other sound came from the bed and all she could hear was the sound of the rain beating its steady tattoo against the hotel roof.
Megan turned over trying to get comfortable among the lumps and sadly sagging middle of the mattress. She pulled her knees up to her chest to get around the bumps poking at her and sighed deeply. Miraculously, she fell asleep.
****
Seamus floated into the room on the steady current of air swirling about the landing of the staircase and set the magic box between the beds. A whirring sound emanated from the little machine. Seamus sprinkled some sparkling dust over the two sleeping people. He watched as their subconscious woke and watched the same exact dream.
The movie began with Megan wearing a veil standing before a priest with Jim as they took their vows. They turned and looked at one another, love glowing around them like a halo.
The scene abruptly changed and Megan stood in front of a stove, stirring a pot with a baby on her hip. Jim walked into the kitchen with a small boy in tow. He took the baby from Megan, gave him to the little boy, and swept her back in a huge kiss. They both laughed and then turned their attention to the children. Again, the scene abruptly changed.
Megan and Jim sat facing each other over twin desks working on twin computers. On the top of each monit
or sat a funny little leprechaun doll. Megan’s hair was streaked with gray and Jim’s was completely white. They looked up and smiled at one another, each reaching for the other’s hand.
The scene changed, and a gray-haired Megan, still tall, but looking fragile, walked hand in hand with a white haired, slightly stooped Jim. Jim reached for Megan and kissed her.
The movie scrolled to the credits and finally “THE END” written in an ornate old English script.
“Humph,” mumbled Seamus. “Cheeky to sign their names on Heaven’s creation. Just cheeky. Need to speak to Iggy about all that.”
Seamus turned and looked at his charges. Their minds were still very much open and Seamus saw both Jim and Megan smile in their sleep, while he floated to the beds and threw another bit of dust over them. Their minds blinked like open eyes and became once again as one with their physical bodies. He waited and watched until he heard a snore rumbling from Jim and a tiny nasal whistle from Megan. Seamus picked up the magic box, pulled on one earlobe, and disappeared.
****
He paced the floor. Back and forth, back and forth. After hours of pacing, he sank onto the bed exhausted. He looked at his watch. It was near on to midnight, and yet he couldn’t sleep. His mind whirled with the sound of his last victim struggling to breathe as the wire pushed against the man’s windpipe. Ripples of excitement coursed through him. He tingled with the memory of the man’s gasping, and the inept fingers clawing at the vice-like grip around his throat.
He got up again to pace the floor. Thoughts of Megan wouldn’t let him be.
Why was she here in Sligo, of all places? Why? Had she followed him? Her and that Yank? It couldn’t be possible. He was too careful. They couldn’t suspect him. He wasn’t ready to be caught.
Not yet.
No, not yet.
He had to prove to Megan that she still loved him. He’d be so famous; she wouldn’t be able to help herself. His father would finally come around as well.
Oh, yes, he’d be famous and they’d all be sorry that they didn’t love him the whole while. He’d be famous, and then he’d get Meggie back.
He’d have to make a plan; a plan to get rid of that Yank. After all, he was an American, an Irish American. Yes, he’d plan it out just so, and Mr. James O’Flannery would be the next victim. He’d have to wait till they got back to Dublin, though. Only one per city per week. That way it would take them a while to find him.
No, he wasn’t ready yet for them to catch him.
No, not yet.
Richard finally staggered to the bed in exhaustion and fell over it into a fitful slumber.
Chapter 13
Someone was after her, chasing her, getting closer and closer. She stole a glance over her shoulder, stumbled and almost fell. They were coming, closer and closer. She ran pell-mell toward the hazy outline of a building shrouded in gray mist. Her breath came quick and shallow. She thought she might faint. The building was within her reach. At last she grasped the doorknob and turned. It wouldn’t open. The door latch rattled against the jamb but it wouldn’t open. She looked over her shoulder, but there was nothing in the swirling mist.
Then she heard footsteps. Running, running toward her. She wrenched the door, willing it to open. She glimpsed quickly over her shoulder, sure that they were closing in. Sweat dripped into her eyes; her hands were slick with it. She turned and turned the knob, pounding on the door, trying, trying to get it open.
She screamed.
“Jim, Jim.”
A hand grabbed her shoulder and shook her. She tried to scream again, and then a soothing voice nudged her consciousness.
“Wake up, Megan.”
The darkness and mist receded. Megan opened her eyes.
She was in the attic room in Sligo. She looked up and saw Jim bending over her, his hand warm on her shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
Megan braced herself up on her elbows and took a big breath. She closed her eyes and the dream fled into the background. She looked up into Jim’s face. He’d crawled out of bed to save her. His black, black hair stuck up from the back almost straight up. He stood there in his boxer shorts, the white no-nonsense kind, and his hand touched her shoulder and the nightmare was gone entirely.
He was pretty terrific looking, even if he had an indentation from the sheet running across his cheek and his hair stuck up all over his head. Megan’s mouth went dry, and she turned her head away from Jim and tried to swallow.
“Yes, thanks for saving me. I’d say you’re a knight in shining armor, but you haven’t got any clothes on.”
“Oh,” Jim muttered, looking down. “Well, I’m going to head for the bath. You can change up here, all right?”
“All right,” Megan said as she turned the rest of her body to the wall. She heard him moving around, pulling on pants and a shirt, before he grabbed something and headed out of the room.
Sounds of the awakening hotel lulled Megan into a relaxed state. The horrifying nightmare, even now, was fading away into nothingness.
She took a big breath and closed her eyes, hoping the last bit of the dream would vanish. She relaxed into the pillow and another image took hold in her mind.
She and Jim stood in front of a priest. A priest, and wait, she wore a veil. What? There were two little boys, one was a baby, and the other was named…Seamus?
Had she had another dream last night as well?
Megan sat up and quickly hopped from the bed.
“There’ll be none of that now. Get dressed, you great dolt,” she mumbled as she rummaged around in her suitcase and pulled out a pair of gray wool slacks that weren’t too crushed and a white sweater. She would wear her black blazer, and then she would look quite professional with a few strategically placed accessories. But even as she pulled on her clothes, the dream about Jim and the two little boys filled her mind. She pushed her thoughts away and focused on dressing. She’d look quite professional. Yes, quite professional.
She dressed quickly and brushed out her snarled and tangled hair. Now, it was time to find a sink and a mirror. Her mind still filled with the dream, she grabbed her purse and makeup bag and headed out the door. Her head was down as she went down each step, her mind far away. Without warning, the toe of her black pump ran into the toe of Jim’s bedroom slipper. She looked up at him, and did her utmost not to roll her eyes. The man was positively a ray of sunshine, God give me strength.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully.
Jaysus, was he always so, so, so cheerful in the mornings? No, she would not snap at the poor man just because she felt like. Ah, bollocks, what did she feel like? Come on, Megan, be nice.
“Morning. I’m on my way to the bath. Meet you in the restaurant?”
“Sure,” he said.
She sensed him watching her as she walked past him.
****
Jim made the bed and straightened his things before taking the computer and following the aroma of coffee and ham to the restaurant located in the back of the hotel. Jim treated his first cup of coffee of the day with a reverence he had for few other inanimate objects. Ah, life was good with a cup of hot joe.
Megan came into the eating area and stood inside the door, looking around. Jim watched her, before she saw him. She was stunning. She wore a red silk scarf tied loosely inside her jacket, and her glorious hair brushed out and pushed back with two ornate combs.
Suddenly, a picture of Megan in a white dress and veil flooded his memory. They were standing in front of a priest and Jim had said, “I do.” Jim shook his head. Where on earth had that scary thought come from?
Jim shook his head again, took a drink of his coffee, and muttered, “Seamus.”
“What’s the matter, O’Flannery, didn’t sleep well?” Megan sat down and gave Jim one of her all too frequent smug looks.
Jim sipped his coffee before answering. “Matter of fact, I slept great. That’s why me hair was sticking up all over me head,” he answered in a mocking Irish accent. “Y
ou look very nice this morning.”
“Well, thank you. You do, too,” Megan said, looking appreciatively at his navy blazer and Kelly green tie. “Nice combination, O’Flannery. Everyone in town will think you’re a millionaire.”
“Really?” Jim looked down at his slacks and blazer. He didn’t get it.
“Lots of people think all Americans are millionaires.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, it’s true. Poor misguided folk. I know better. I’ve read American newspapers,” she said as she picked up her spoon and waved it for emphasis.
“You are one funny woman, Kennedy. Now, after we eat whatever it is that they eat for breakfast around here, have you made a plan for the two of us?”
“I think we should fill out a goal sheet with all the information we know and then start drawing some of our own conclusions. I’ve done a study on serial killers, their usual psychological profiles. We can use that for some story back-up. The Mighty Flynn loves to see data—lots and lots of data.”
“Very good. And if we need something else, we can always Google it. I got Wi-Fi last night in the bar.”
“Very good.” The waitress brought tea and a plate of soft, buttery buns to the table. “Oh, what shall we have this morning?”
“Don’t suppose I could get bacon and scrambled eggs?” Jim wistfully asked the waitress. His breakfast the previous morning had consisted of some sort of fish.
“Certainly, sir. And you, madam?”
“I’ll have bacon and eggs as well.”
“Right-o. I’ll bring them straight away.”
Jim crossed his arms on the table and looked long and hard at Megan. The image of her gray-haired and fragile, but still very elegant, flitted through his mind. She’d be beautiful when she was eighty.
“Of course, she’ll be beautiful, you dolt, and now is the time to ask her.”
Jim sighed and covered his face with his hands. He peeked between his fingers and saw Seamus standing on Megan’s shoulder. He was glad she was fishing for something in her purse at the moment and not watching him.
The Wild Mountain Thyme Page 10
