“Such a douchebag. Some things never change.” Rafe put a hand on Flynn’s shoulder, leaned over and eyeballed the street. “You see anyone else?”
“No.”
“Could mean we’re in the clear. That it’s just a hell of an unlucky coincidence.”
Once the panic stopped icing over his neurons, the same thought had occurred to Flynn. “You remember Pat ever talking about fishing? You hung out with him. I only saw him a couple of times a year at parties.”
“The city’s backyard is Lake Michigan. Everyone swore they’d retire and fish at every great watering hole. Never noticed it happening. Nobody retires. No real vacations, either. How often did you and I leave Chicago for the hell of it?”
They’d taken Kellan on a three-day trip to celebrate his high school graduation. Boat ride to Ellis Island, a Broadway show, a game at Yankee Stadium just so they could boo them, and some of the best steaks they’d ever had—not that they’d admit to it back in Chi-town. That was it for vacations.
Wonder what they’d do now for a vacation? If they made it past the trial?
Damn, Flynn was starting to wonder, to care about that a lot more.
He squinted against the morning sun. “Should we call Kellan?”
“Not yet. Shit.” Rafe slammed the flat of his hand against the brick building. “I fucking hate that we have to tell him at all.”
Yeah. But that was nonnegotiable. It didn’t matter that Rafe was the eldest. Flynn would insist on dialing Kellan in or he’d never trust the two of them again. “We promised. No more secrets. No more lies.”
“I know, I know.” This time he kicked at the gravel. “I just hate it.”
“Me, too.” Without saying anything, they alternated quick looks around the corner. “Does this mean we’re having another war council?”
“Hell, no. We’re not sliding backward.” Rafe stabbed an index finger, pointing at both of them in turn. “You and me, we’re not those people anymore.”
Funny, since Flynn had never felt like one of those people. He’d always felt out of sync with the rest of McGinty’s crew. That’s what came of straddling the line between legal and not.
For now, though? Flynn would jump to whatever side of the line was necessary to protect Kellan and Mollie and Sierra and everyone else in this town who never asked to have mobsters fucking infiltrate them.
“That means killing him’s out?”
“For fuck’s sake, Flynn, you and I have never killed anyone.” Rafe fisted Flynn’s forest green tee at the neck and yanked his brother close enough to see the darkening flecks of navy and black in his eyes. “We’re not starting now that we’re out of the mob!”
Flynn shook his head. Rafe’s intimidation didn’t scare him one bit. A Chicago mobster possibly hunting them down—that scared him. “Didn’t say I wanted to. I do want to be certain that we’re strategic about this. Smart. That we pro/con every option that exists and choose the best one.”
“You and your damned lists. No war council, and no PowerPoint, bullet point list.” Rafe let go to pace in a circle. “Let’s just think for a second. I’m telling you right now that running’s off the table. I won’t leave Mollie.”
Maybe Norah hadn’t been as off the mark with that engagement talk as he’d thought. Even though they’d all sworn to not plan for any kind of a future until the trial was over. “So that’s how it is?”
“Yeah.”
“See, I was going to say the opposite.” Another quick glance. No movement. How the hell long did it take to buy a bag of worms? “That if we have to run to keep Mollie, or say . . . Sierra safe, then we should.”
Rafe smirked. “So that’s how it is?”
“Shut up. How about we start with a little reconnaissance? Tail him. Figure out why he’s here.”
“That’s what my gut says to do. But what if he’s not alone?”
“We’ll figure that out by tailing him, won’t we? If he rode in on a shitstorm of a coincidence? If he’s really just here to catch whatthefuckever is lying in wait out there in the ocean?” Flynn hooked a thumb in the direction of his workplace. “Chances are good that he’ll end up at the Gorse tonight.”
“Where he’d definitely spot you. Then all hell would break loose. So whatever we do has to be wrapped up before your shift starts at what—four?”
“I’ll follow him.”
“Amateur.” Rafe rolled his eyes. “The only person you’ve ever followed is me. In everything.”
They were both scared spitless at the possibilities represented by the redheaded son of a bitch across the street. So Flynn would let that one go. Give his brother a pass this once. Good thing Kellan wasn’t here to see it happen. “I’m the one with the free day. You need to stay at the garage. Stick to your routine.”
“Flynn, this isn’t a game. Pat could spot a bad tail.”
“He’s in a bait shop. Chances are good that means he’s buying bait and heading out on a boat. If anyone else from Chicago is out here, they’ll be on that boat, too. Once I find that out, I’ll call Delaney.”
“Fine.” Rafe jogged to his car and came back with a baseball cap. “Wear this. Stay at least a block behind him. Whatever happens, do not engage.”
“Funny you should use that word. I’ll tell you why later. When K’s around to mock you, too.”
“As soon as you see his car, text me the plates and the location.”
After checking out the yellow Oregon Ducks logo above the bill, Flynn settled the green cap on his head. “Why?”
“If we want him out of our hair, we need to give the police a reason to discover his rap sheet, right? Couple of broken taillights should be a good start. And I haven’t had any fun with a crowbar in a long time.”
“What happened to not turning into a mobster again?”
Rafe flashed an angelic smile. “Hey, I’m aiding and abetting the law on this one. Pat O’Connor’s a dangerous man. With at least fifty unpaid parking tickets he bragged about a year ago. Bet its twice that high now. Pretty sure there’s an outstanding warrant for him in Indiana, too. I’m just using my talent and experience to keep the streets of Bandon safe.”
Flynn wanted that. But keeping Bandon safe wasn’t at the top of his list. Keeping Sierra safe was.
That’s why he was going to spend his day skulking behind a known criminal with a hair-trigger temper who undoubtedly wanted to get revenge on all the Maguire brothers for breaking up his crew.
It was the most romantic thing he could do for her. Chivalrous, like a knight defending his lady in her teeny tiny castle.
Too bad she’d never know . . .
Chapter Sixteen
Sierra sliced the crusty, golden loaf of garlic bread. “Lily, you never explained what the occasion is? Why we’re all together at your house on a Thursday night?”
The strawberry blonde shoved her shag cut behind her ears. Steam from the pasta pot billowed around her face. “Because you have to work on Saturday nights.”
“No, seriously,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Like they’d really bump their long-standing GNO tradition for her.
Lily fisted her hands on her hips, still clutching the bright red pot holders. “I’m dead serious.”
It . . . it was too much. They were all too sweet. Aside from Mollie’s birthday party, Elena, Karen, and Lily had only bumped into her in town a few times. She didn’t have the long history that the four of them shared. “You moved Girls’ Night? Just for me?”
Elena cocked her head to the side. The quizzical look crinkling her nose pretty much said that Sierra had lost her mind to even ask. “Of course. You’re one of the girls now.”
“Although we really ought to update and feminize that term.” Karen scowled as she set the salad bowl on the red farm table. “It’s too militantly 1950s, get me a cup of coffee, doll.”
After a loud scrape against the burner—did Lily actually know how to cook? Sierra wondered—she lifted the pot and upended it. Lifting her voice over the
whoosh of water, she said, “Dr. Vickers, what is your professional opinion on the gender politics of the phrase Girls’ Night?”
Mollie pulled the cork out of the bottle of red and flipped it end over end, considering. “I guess we could change it to Women’s Wine Night, but that’s both too long and excludes our awesome margarita binges.”
“Elena? Where do you stand?”
A few deft twists of her wrists had her long dark hair up in a bun that Elena secured with a chopstick from the jar of utensils on the counter. “This isn’t your kindergarten class, Lily. You don’t have to call on each one of us.”
The sharp tone made Lily’s eyebrows raise above her pink frames. “If you’re going to be snippy, I won’t call on you at all.”
Sierra felt the tension rising in the air, like fog creeping its way up the beach. This was the problem with not knowing people well, not knowing their histories. Would this be a big blowout of a fight? Should she leave the room and let them work it out? God, she hated feeling like she was on the outskirts even when in the cheerful white and red shininess of Lily’s home.
This was just more proof that her decision to stay, to put down roots, was the correct one. By the end of the night, she’d make sure that she knew something uniquely personal about each of these women. Something that proved they were friends and not just acquaintances.
And Sierra would share something about herself, too. No matter how much the very thought made the olives and cheese she’d nibbled on sit like lead in her stomach.
“Sorry.” A quick one-armed hug from Elena cleared the air instantly. Lily hip-checked her back with a grin. That was it? Wow. They were so easy with each other. Sierra’s art school friends had been either loudly dramatic or dramatically shy. These women were just . . . fun. “I’m a grump. Alan texted that he isn’t coming down this weekend.”
“Alan?” Karen tapped her index finger to her lips. “The city manager up in Bend?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Mollie poured the wine. She looked as skeptical as Karen. Adorable, in her black leggings and a royal blue cold-shoulder top, but still skeptical. “The city manager who also has a girlfriend stashed in Portland and another in Vancouver?”
Uh-oh. Sierra took in Elena’s perfectly bronzed skin, hourglass figure, and a smile that was powerful enough to almost make her curious about playing for the other team. Well, pinch-hitting, maybe. How could any man cheat on a woman like that?
“We’re not exclusive.” Defensiveness wafted around Elena like a fresh squirt of perfume. “He’s got that hot nerd thing going for him. And Alan says he’s going to take me to stay at the Bellagio in Vegas.”
Lily poked a wooden spoon in her direction. “How long has he been stringing you along with that?”
“We’re both busy, okay?” Elena shrugged and shifted her gaze away. “Coordinating our calendars isn’t easy.”
Yep, Elena was in denial. This was a semisecret that Sierra wasn’t thrilled to know. But she could start repaying the friendship she’d been offered with a hard-learned truth.
Sierra set the basket of bread on the table and then crossed her arms. Looking at Elena dead-on, she stated flatly, “You deserve better.”
Another telltale, timid shrug from a woman who usually radiated confidence and brashness. “We’re just having fun.”
“Are you, though? Because it doesn’t sound like fun to me. It sounds like he’s putting out the minimal effort required to keep you interested. If this guy truly cared about you, truly appreciated you for the strong, sexy, fun woman that you are, then he’d bend over backward to squeeze you into his schedule. That’s what a real man would do.”
Whoops. Too late, Sierra realized the volume of her rant had risen considerably. Probably . . . no, definitely louder than was polite in Lily’s home.
Slowly, Elena picked up a glass and took a sip. Her deep brown lipstick left a perfect semicircle below the rim. “Is this about me and Alan? Or about you and an ex?”
Sierra paused. “Yes. To both. But that doesn’t diminish its message.”
Swirling her wine, Elena raised a single dark slash of an impeccably groomed eyebrow. Sierra had never had hers done. Would she need to wax things now? All sorts of . . . things and places? To keep Flynn happy?
After another sip, Elena asked, “Because your ex penciled you in too infrequently, I’m supposed to stop seeing a real catch?”
Alan sounded more like a real louse than a real catch to Sierra. But hey, she’d dated a skeezy criminal/almost murderer, so who was she to judge? Elena’s cool challenge almost had her backing down.
But that wasn’t the new and improved, Bandon version of Sierra. Bandon Sierra didn’t run away. Didn’t back down from sticking up for herself or her friends—even to said friends.
She did, however, grab the full glass Mollie had pushed in front of her and took a sip of something red and strong. “I didn’t say that. What you do need to do is make sure that he starts truly seeing who you are and what you need.”
Lily clapped three times, bouncing on her toes. “Ooh, that’s good. I mean really good, Sierra. Because when you care about someone else, their needs should be at least as important as your own.”
Which made Sierra wonder what Flynn’s needs were. He had this core of . . . something that she was well aware might as well require a retinal scanner to open its vault. His eyes shuttered over. Quiet descended over him, although far less often, like a moody cloak. When it happened, he sure didn’t look happy. Or content.
How could she push into that secret darkness, whatever it was? How could she make him feel better? How could she possibly give him everything he needed when she didn’t even know what that was?
Another quick sip of the wine added concrete to Sierra’s already semi-stiffened spine. Whatever it was? She’d find out and find a way to give it to him. Because Flynn had given her so much already.
“Hmm.” Elena clicked toward Sierra on her strappy black sandals, then bent to give her a firm hug. “Why weren’t you around to be this perceptive when I started dating this loser?”
Sierra smiled against the dark mass of Elena’s hair. This hug was everything. Proof that she hadn’t pushed too hard. Proof that she’d been right to venture outside of her comfort zone. “I was off learning life lessons to impart to you.”
Everyone scraped out chairs and sat down. Happy chatter filled the room as they passed the bread, salad, and the heaping bowl of pasta with vodka sauce and sausage. As over-the-top luxurious as their party at the spa had been, to Sierra, this was better. This night—like everything about Elena’s outfit, from the red bandage top to the black leather cropped pants and choker—was perfect.
Maybe she could ask Elena for fashion advice. In approximately a year, when she finally had enough money after saving for a car and putting aside a lot for . . . whatever she ended up doing with her life. Then Sierra could let herself splurge on a new outfit. One to make Flynn’s eyes pop out of his skull.
If they were still together in a year.
Because they hadn’t talked about their relationship and where it was going. Reveling in the moment was more their jam right now. After all, they’d only been together just under a month. Sierra absolutely couldn’t, shouldn’t rush into anything after her last debacle. The mere fact that she’d opened herself up to dating Flynn was a miracle.
But what if?
What if he cared about her as much as she cared about him? What if Flynn stopped sharing a house with his brothers and started sharing one with her?
She’d have to move. That much was clear. Her cozy little tiny house was not built for a man of Flynn’s considerable—and considerably sexy—height. Or breadth. His shoulders barely made it into the bathroom.
Wow. Thinking about all the possibilities in front of her—good ones, finally—made Sierra a little bit dizzy.
Or maybe it was all those sips of the wine she kept taking.
“Want to tell us about the jerk who let you down?”
Mollie asked.
“Maybe someday. Not right now.” Not just because it still wasn’t safe to let the cat out of the bag. More that Sierra didn’t want to turn the fun evening into a pity party over her clueless idiocy.
Rick and his horrible, illegal scheme had forced her to abandon everything. He’d put a dark splotch on her life. One that Sierra couldn’t erase.
She could paint over it, though. Like the old masters, hiding some original elements in their paintings with pentimenti. Obscuring what was with a different viewpoint. A different truth. A different, new, final version of what they wanted the world to see.
Sierra wanted the world to see her as a woman with kick-ass friends and a sunny disposition. A woman who deserved a man as awesome as Flynn. A woman who simply wouldn’t allow the darkness to spread onto another inch of the canvas of her life.
Setting her fork down, she turned to Lily. Because there was no better time to start sketching out her new future than right now.
Well, there probably was a better time. A time when she hadn’t guzzled wine before leaping into a potentially risky discussion. A time when she’d done research and prepared a multipoint reasoning.
Waiting simply wasn’t an option any longer, though. Sierra knew, firsthand, how quickly plans could turn on a dime. How life could spin you around as recklessly as a car doing donuts in an icy parking lot.
Not to mention that waiting would give her the chance to change her mind. To chicken out.
Her empty hand inched toward the wineglass. Before it hit the stem and the liquid courage it represented, Sierra blurted out, “Are there any openings at your school for the fall? Ideally an art teacher, of course, but I’d take anything. Kindergarten. Classroom assistant. Chief cook and bottle washer—as long as you don’t actually expect me to cook.”
“I didn’t realize you wanted to teach?” Lily’s voice rose at the end, a verbal mirror of the question on everybody’s faces. The obvious one, of course, being why she was waitressing. The more burning question, of course, being why she hadn’t mentioned it until now.
“More than anything. I’m qualified. I have a degree.” Might as well go for broke, she thought. “Two, almost. I can’t prove it, but I do.”
Never Been Good Page 20
