“Are you a Pats fan?”
“A what?” She shook her head.
“Do you like the Patriots?”
“Oh.” She reached for her braid and toyed with the ends. “I prefer the Ravens.” The Ravens? Really, Ava? You don’t even watch football!
“They’re a decent team, but you can’t be in a bar in Boston and not root for the Patriots.”
She returned his smirk with a smile. “Maybe you could convert me?” Did I just flirt?
“I’d be more than obliged to help you see the light.” He leaned closer until his face was only a few inches from hers.
She swallowed and couldn’t help but inhale his masculine, woodsy scent.
“But I’m gonna let you in on a secret. The only football I watch is that of the Irish—you know, the real game of football.” He winked and pushed back away from the bar before walking to the other end, where a new patron had just settled in.
A synchronized dance routine began in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t quite focus as she studied the Irish man. He tossed a bottle behind his back and caught it with his other hand, then twirled it over his knuckles. Two saucy-looking blondes applauded him, and leaned over the bar, pushing their obnoxiously large chests even closer to his face.
Focus, Ava. “Excuse me,” she called, trying her hand at bravery.
He glanced at her and excused himself from the pouty blondes. “Yes, love?”
“Is Aiden O’Connor here?” Are you him?
His brows quirked together; he removed his hands from the bar and took a step back. “I’m Aiden. And you might be?”
She studied the light scar that sliced through his right brow before his eyes captured hers. “I’m Ava Daniels.”
“Well, Ava, it’s a pleasure.” He extended his hand.
The gesture caught her off guard. She reached for his hand, and the warmth of his touch escalated her body temperature. Thoughts of their bodies entangled beneath silky bed sheets popped into her mind.
She closed her eyes. Where the hell had those thoughts come from?
“Miss?”
Her eyes fluttered open.
Aiden cocked his head to the side for a brief moment, studying her, before looking down at their clasped hands.
“Oh. Sorry.” She dropped her hand, allowing it to fall back onto her lap.
“Tell me, Miss Daniels—Ava—what can I help you with? I gather that you’re not here for the club soda?”
“No. Um. Is there some place private we could go?”
His eyes widened a fraction at her comment as a smile tugged at his lips, exposing a dimple in his right cheek.
That’s not what I meant. “I mean, just go to one of the tables here. I’d like to talk about . . . something.”
His shoulders arched back a little as he scratched at the dark stubble on his jaw. “Sure.” He motioned toward a booth in the back of the bar, far away from the TVs, and she rose to her feet with wobbly knees and followed him. “Tell me, love, what can I do for ya?” he asked as he slipped into the booth.
She sat down onto the faded brown leather, wishing she didn’t look like a complete mess. She rubbed the back of her exposed neck as her lips pursed together. Where should she even begin?
“I’m looking for Henry Davidson.” Seeing the blank look on his face, she pushed forward but was worried she was wrong. Maybe they weren’t related. Maybe her research was incorrect. “Sophia’s brother. Your uncle?”
He inhaled sharply at the mention of the name Sophia and started to get up from the table. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” His Irish accent was thicker this time.
Without thinking, she reached for his arm.
He clenched his jaw as his eyes averted to her hand. His gaze remained there for a moment before his attention flickered back to her face. “What do you want?”
“Please. Henry’s missing. I’m worried about him. I have no one to go to, and so I tried to find someone he’s related to. I couldn’t find Sophia, but I found you and your father.” Judging how his chest moved with each deep breath and the way his eyes remained on her arm, she knew her time was running low. But she also knew she was right. He had to be Henry’s nephew.
“I’ve no idea who you’re talking about. Please, just leave.” He ran a hand through his thick dark hair, tousling it out of place.
Of course he knew who she was talking about, or he wouldn’t have had such an emotional reaction. Ava jumped to her feet, but the floor wasn’t where she expected it to be. There was a step down to the ground, and her heel slammed into the edge. She threw her hands out, and strong arms embraced her, holding her upright. Embarrassed and a little breathless, she stared up at him, feeling safe for the first time all day. “Sorry,” she said in a voice just above a whisper.
His grasp tightened as his eyes lingered over her mouth.
She tried to stand all the way upright, and he freed her from his hold.
“You okay?”
No. That is what I’ve been trying to tell you. “Please, just talk to me. I need help.” She hated how needy she sounded, but she did need him.
“I’m sorry, but I want nothing to do with Sophia or any of her family,” he said, his voice rough. He turned away and headed for a nearby door, which she assumed led to an office or stock room of some sort. As Aiden pushed it open, he glanced over his shoulder in her direction; his gaze was directed toward her.
A moment of hope that he’d come back to her quickly faded when she watched him disappear behind the swinging door.
She released a breath and approached the bar. She set five dollars down next to her club soda and scanned the room for Aiden’s father, Liam. Could he help her? Maybe he’d be an even better lead than Aiden?
But there was no sign of either O’Connor. She wouldn’t give up, though. She’d try again tomorrow.
And maybe, at the very least, shower first.
***
The next day, Ava left her hotel and walked the few blocks toward the Irish bar. Maybe Aiden and Liam didn’t have the answers she was looking for, but they had to know something about Henry—something that could help her figure out what happened to him. Of course, if terrorists did have Henry, what would she be able to do about it? And if they didn’t, would that mean Henry was guilty of something? Would she be aiding a criminal? What the hell was she even doing?
God, which is worse? Henry as a traitor or Henry held captive by terrorists?
Ava eyed the nearest trash can, in case the overwhelming nausea she felt decided to take a turn for the worst.
She glanced at her watch. It was close to five o’clock. She had taken note of the hours of the bar when she’d left the night before. She wanted to get there just as it opened.
She’d been a nervous wreck waiting all day. Because she had no clothes, she had gone to a local shop and picked up a few necessities. She didn’t want to burn through her cash, so she didn’t exactly buy the trendiest of clothes, but she wanted to look at least halfway decent when she saw Aiden again. She tried not to think about why—or that it had anything to do with the lustful visions of sex with him that kept interrupting her concern for Henry the entire night.
Although thinking about him was a nice distraction from the probability that the United States would fall to a chemical terrorist attack—or Henry would lose his head.
She forced the negative thoughts from her mind as she walked the last block to the bar.
It took her a minute to work up the nerve to step inside. But when she did, she discovered the place empty. A feeling of relief washed over her.
A gorgeous young blonde walked out from the back room, liquor bottles in hand. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to wonder whether or not the bartender was dating Aiden.
Why am I even thinking about this? Damn it, Ava. Focus.
The blonde shelved the liquor bottles and focused on Ava. “Can I help you?”
“Um. Is Aiden here?” she asked in a low voice.
T
he bartender’s eyes passed over every inch of Ava, appraising her like competition. Her right brow quirked up a little as she folded her arms at the waist of her tight white tank top, boosting her cleavage in the process.
“He boxes every day at this time. ’Round the corner, just a block away,” she finally responded.
He boxes? Hm. Ava didn’t know what to do. Wait at the bar or be a weird stalker and find him? “What about Liam?”
“He’ll be in around six.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She left before the bartender had another chance to speak.
The day was seductively warm for the end of September in Boston, a nice change from last night’s storm. After a short walk, she spotted what she assumed to be the boxing gym and swung open the door, assuming her twin’s brassy overconfidence.
As she stepped inside, the odor of sweat assaulted her senses. But her eyes were immediately drawn to him. Aiden stood in the middle of a fighting ring, squaring off with a rather large—no, huge—guy. Aiden was no weakling, though. He was six two, maybe even taller. And his body . . . she held her breath as her eyes stole greedy glimpses of him. His black sweats hung low on his hips, and his glistening, tanned chest was all kinds of sexy.
And then Aiden was looking right at her. His guard dropped as his scarred brow quirked up.
Oh, shit. She watched as his opponent reeled his arm back and socked Aiden clean across the jaw.
Not even a flinch from Aiden. Is he made of steel? she wondered as her hand covered her mouth. She couldn’t help but feel responsible for the massive punch to his face. He’s really going to hate me now. She grimaced as she watched Aiden shift his attention back to the boxer with a vengeance. He plowed punches at him left and right, offering no chance for the other guy to fight back.
Neither was wearing headgear, which Ava found disconcerting. She’d never been a fan of fighting. She hated it, in fact. That was why her job was to prevent violence. Her twin once dated a pro fighter in the UFC—an Irish one, actually . . . and her sister made Ava attend an event with her in Vegas. Her sister’s boyfriend won the match in the first round by knockout, but the blood that had resulted . . . it had been awful. She flinched at the memory as she looked around for a place to sit.
Her mind drifted back to thoughts of concern for Henry as she sat on a bench near an empty boxing ring.
“What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this?”
Ava looked up at the man towering over her. He had semi-long, sandy blonde hair and bright green eyes. He was very much Abercrombie meets track star. “I’m meeting someone here,” she lied, irritation painted with a fine brush in the tone of her voice.
He sat down and scooted next to her. He angled his head and ran a hand through his wavy hair. “You remind me of someone.”
Not again. “I doubt that.” She rolled her eyes but doubted he could see her disdain as her attention was now focused on the concrete floor.
“What’s your name?” His accent was not Bostonian. He reminded her more of the many surfer guys she’d met when living in Malibu.
Before she could respond, an Irish voice filled the air. “Sam, I think you ought to leave the lady alone.”
“She your girl?”
“None of your concern.” Aiden folded his arms, cocked his head, and glared at Surfer Sam.
Ava watched the man cringe and fade away before she stood. “Thanks for that.”
“What in the hell are you doin’ here?”
Her savior one minute—and now? “We need to talk,” she mustered.
He took a step back from her.
“Aiden . . .”
His eyes narrowed on her, and he dropped his hands to his sides. “Leave me alone. I can’t help you.”
“But—”
Ignoring her, he turned and walked to the men’s locker room.
She couldn’t give up, though. She’d wait for him.
Ava sat back down on the bench and attempted to ignore the smell of sweat that oozed from the walls of the gym. She bit her nails, her nervous habit, and tried to brainstorm how she would win him over.
When he finally exited the locker room, she jumped to her feet and tucked her hands into her jean pockets, nervous energy bubbling beneath the surface.
His scowl was obvious, even from a distance. “You should have left,” he said upon approach, as his liquid blue eyes darkened.
She tried to ignore the ludicrous and alien feelings that swirled inside her, making her almost faint. His black T-shirt only reminded her of what his chest had looked like beneath his shirt.
“Please. I need your help,” she managed after a few beats, hating the sound of desperation in her voice.
“I don’t care,” was all he said before spinning on his heel and walking away toward the exit.
Moments later she was shuffling after him. “Aiden, wait.”
He didn’t stop. He didn’t turn back. He just kept moving.
He was pissing her off. “Aiden, I’m not giving up. I can’t,” she yelled after him.
Just outside the bar, he turned around to face her. His chest heaved up and down with obvious anger. He closed the distance between them, standing only a few inches from her.
She could feel his breath as he stared down into her eyes. There was something hidden there—some unspoken pain.
“Just go.” He held her gaze for a second longer before turning away and entering the bar.
She shut her eyes for a brief moment and tried to quell the fear that was spinning like a tornado inside her. I can’t give up yet. Persistence shot through her as she reached for the door.
She glanced around the bar but didn’t see Aiden anywhere. Before she could make her way to the bar, a hand reached out for her arm. She looked up in surprise at the man standing to her left.
“I don’t know what you did to my son, but ever since you showed up here yesterday, he has been a hot mess.”
Ava swallowed and took a step back from Aiden’s father. “Liam, right?” she asked while raising her brows. “Do you think maybe we can talk?” Maybe you can help me.
He pointed to a table at the far end of the room. “It’ll be my arse if he sees us speaking, but I get the feelin’ you won’t be giving up anytime soon.”
She nodded and followed Liam to the table tucked around the corner, just out of sight of the bar. She scooted up onto the barstool and allowed her purse to drop from her shoulder and to the floor. The luxury of not owning a designer bag was the freedom it gave her to set it down wherever she pleased.
Liam’s dark brows pinched together, and he clasped his hands on the table in front of her. His blue eyes—the same blue as Aiden’s—were full of soul, and yet somehow they looked lost and empty at the same time. “What’s got my boy so upset? He won’t speak to me.”
She ran a hand through her silky hair and wet her glossy lips, contemplating her response. If Aiden’s mother’s name had Aiden flying away from her, what kind of knee-jerk reaction might she get from Liam? “Do you know Henry Davidson?” She mimicked Liam, and laced her fingers together, setting her hands before her on the table. She studied his reaction to the name, but his stance and posture remained unchanged.
“No.”
“What about Sophia Davidson?” As soon as the name slipped from her lips, Liam moved away from the table a bit, and his hands shifted to his lap. The bar wasn’t particularly bright, but she could have sworn his lips trembled.
“Yes, I know her, and now I know why my boy does not want to talk to you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. “Why are you askin’ about Sophia?” He opened his eyes and studied her; concern etched in every line of his face.
“This might sound crazy, but I worked with her brother, Henry. Henry’s missing, and I think he’s in trouble. I’m trying to find clues or answers as to where he might be, and I started by looking for his family.” She spoke with quick intensity; worried Liam would leave as fast as Aiden had. But he remained sitting; in fact, he
leaned in a little closer to the table as she talked. His eyes beheld hers, never breaking contact. Never even blinking.
“Continue.”
She nodded, thankful for his acceptance. “I discovered he had a sister, but it’s like she doesn’t exist.” She gulped. “I did some searching, which revealed she had a son. Aiden. But Aiden is a bit of a mystery as well. Until an article about this bar popped up in my search.” She balled her hands on the table, not out of anger, but to curtail her desire to bite her nails. She pressed them into her palms, instead.
Liam placed his hands on the table and cocked his head to the side. “Sophia was vacationing in Ireland when I met her. I was so young—playing guitar and singing in a bar in Dublin.” He shut his eyes and paused, as though he were transporting himself back in time. “When I saw her walk into the bar one night, I think my ticker stopped working then and there.” A flash of pain pulled at the muscles in his face as his eyes opened.
“Are you okay?” she asked, placing her hand over his.
He nodded. “Sophia was like no other woman I’d met, but what does a twenty-something-year-old kid know? I fell in love with her that night.” He shook his head. “It only took one night for me to know she was the one.” He took a moment to clear his throat. “Her green eyes pierced my soul with every look we exchanged. We spent every moment of her vacation together. It was the best week of my life. A week I’ll never forget.”
“Wow,” Ava whispered.
“And then Sophia disappeared. Her vacation was over, and she went back to the States without saying a word.” He rubbed a hand over his scruffy beard, which was dark, laced with silver and white. “Ten months later, Aiden was left at the church by my house, with a note that he was mine.”
Oh God. The somber look in his eyes and the obvious pain in his voice welled tears in her eyes. “No wonder Aiden doesn’t want to talk about her.”
“I tried to find her. Spent years searching. Dead ends, all.” He drew in a deep breath and his shoulders swelled. It was easy to see where Aiden had gotten his muscular physique. “When Aiden turned eighteen he decided to leave Ireland and study in America. It surprised me, as I thought he hated the U.S. because of his mother, but he embraced his American identity, and so I followed. Been in the States for about fifteen years now.”
Buried Lies (Hidden Truths) Page 29
