Once Kissed: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family)

by Cecy Robson

  “Whether you’d return to your vehicle or take patrol in the hall.”

  I don’t have to see him then to know he’s smiling. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you open the door to the hall?”

  “I meant the lobby.”

  “No, you didn’t.” He pauses. “You were checking me out.”

  My mouth pops open. “I was not.”

  “Yeah, you were. Like what you see?”

  “What? You—”

  “Scoundrel?” he offers. “I don’t think you’ve used that one yet.”

  “I’m hanging up the phone now.”

  “Okay. But if you change your mind and want one last look before you go to bed, I could step out and—”

  I hang up. My face so hot I could warm bread on it. What did I do? Better yet, what do I do now? I’m seeing him tomorrow—if not sooner. What if it’s sooner? I can’t admit that I was gawking at his bitable ass. I’m a professional—and I’m working for his brother—and I’m an almost lawyer!

  The phone rings while it’s still clutched in my hand, making me jump. I punch the button to answer. “Look. I know you probably think you’re the hottest thing ever. But I’ll have you know I have no intention of—”

  “Contessa. What in blazes are you talking about!”

  My hand quivers, and my leg muscles turn to sand. Slowly, I lower myself to the couch before my knees give out. Father’s voice is so laced with rage my voice shakes as I speak. “I’m sorry, Father. A telemarketer called and she wouldn’t stop her relentless—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Contessa.”

  Anger rushes forward, washing away a bit of my fear. “I’m not lying,” I insist. “Who else would I speak to this way?”

  He takes a moment, likely mulling over his response. He doesn’t believe me, but he also doesn’t have any evidence to the contrary. “Watch your tone,” he warns.

  I give him a moment to calm, wishing I could simply disconnect both the call and him from my life. Six more months, I remind myself. Graduate, pass the bar, and move on. That light at the end of the desolate tunnel is within reach. I can’t ruin my chances now.

  I soften my voice. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He doesn’t respond, probably because I haven’t groveled enough. But although I depend on him in every aspect of my life, my patience has worn thin following years of being berated. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Spencer Woodworth phoned me today,” he says, not bothering to acknowledge my apology. “He’s asked me to consider donating to his son’s campaign for mayor. You remember his son, young Spencer Woodworth the second, don’t you? He seemed quite taken with you.”

  If “taken with me” involves groping and fondling me in his limousine, then I suppose he was. I rub my eyes, remembering how I had to walk seventeen blocks home when I refused to spend the night with him following an event I’d been forced to attend. Spencer-the-second was a douchebag, and I told Father as much. But either he didn’t care or didn’t believe me.

  “Contessa, are you listening to me?”

  “Yes, Father.” Nausea claims my belly as I clutch the soft blanket my stepmother had given me. I know where this conversation is going, and it’s already making me sick.

  My family is one of the last of the Pennsylvania blue bloods—posh members of society whose gene lines can be traced back to royalty. The men belonging to this so-called exquisite bloodline are few, and the women even fewer. I’m one of the youngest, and unfortunately, so is Spencer.

  “Contessa, do you remember Spencer or not?”

  “I remember him well,” I assure him.

  He ignores the bite to my tone. “Good. I agreed to the donation in exchange for your presence at his son’s side.”

  “I’m sure Spencer would prefer someone else. The last time we saw each other we had a terrible fight—”

  “His campaign fundraiser is in three weeks,” he continues, unaffected. “Spencer senior seemed thrilled with the idea. Perhaps you can reignite the spark between you.”

  My head falls against my hand. Don’t. Don’t do this to me again. “There’s no spark. I told you, he was horrible to me—”

  “Then perhaps you should have been a little nicer,” he bites out. “Mallory shall escort you to a boutique one week before the event for a formal dress. Be ready at ten….”

  “I can’t. I have exams coming up—and, and my duties at the DA’s office have become more demanding.”

  “I’ve arranged a private showing,” he continues. If he bothered listening, he’d hear the tears and desperation in my voice.

  “Please don’t make me do this,” I beg.

  “Quit acting like a child, stop your whining, and do not disappoint me,” he snaps. “Your future depends on it.”

  When he disconnects, it’s all I can do not to throw the stupid phone.

  His comment about my future is meant as a warning so I don’t screw up his future.

  My father is a wealthy man. His seemingly limitless funds have allowed him to hold prestigious positions and associate with the power elite. Yet it’s never enough. He needs to feel important—omnipotent even—someone people seek, admire, and tremble before. It’s sick how he obsessively craves it like a drug, and how little he cares who it hurts and what it costs someone else, especially when it pertains to me.

  In this case, he’s dropping cash in exchange for future favors, and for the opportunity to have his daughter seen with a political juggernaut.

  As I sit on the couch, the life Father has carefully devised for me plays out like a well-orchestrated movie script: I’ll graduate law school, only to marry some sleazy politician or renowned figure he selects for me. I’ll play the good wife, ignoring my husband’s indiscretions, raising our children with a plastic smile fixed on my face, only to be replaced by someone better and younger when I’m no longer of use. Precisely like my mother’s life had been.

  Hmm. What’s that saying? Oh, yes. Fuck that.

  Six more months, I remind myself. Just six more and you’re free.

  That’s what I tell myself. But as I think about how little I fought and how easily he defeated me, I can no longer be sure. Jesus, will I ever be free of this man?

  Curran

  I spent the next few hours in the cold, listening to my scanner and to all the calls I wouldn’t respond to. Considering it was midweek, there was a lot of shit going down. Two domestic violence calls so far, five thefts, and six breaking-and-enterings.

  I should be there, I tell myself, watching backs, throwing down, getting the bad guys.

  But would any of the boys in blue want me there now? I scoff. Probably not.

  There was a time when I’d show up to crazy shit, and even crazier felons. Relief would flood my boys’ faces—even vets years into the force seemed happy to see me.

  “You’re a good cop, O’Brien.”

  “Thank God you’re here, O’Brien.”

  “Hell, ’bout time you got here, O’Brien.”

  That’s what I’d hear, and that’s what I’d sense. I tried not to let it go to my head, and for the most part I didn’t, too caught up in what was happening.

  Turns out, they gave me too much credit.

  Turns out, they were dead wrong.

  It’s a long and hard fall from the top. And that shit hurts when you land.

  I adjust my position and glance up at Tess’s apartment. The lights flick off except for one, which casts a shadow along her living room. I watch her lean silhouette cross the length of the room and into her bedroom. She moves slowly, as if in deep thought. Maybe she’s thinking through what she studied and learned. That’s my guess, until she pauses by the window and looks out, before quickly rushing away.

  I laugh to myself. She did the same thing earlier when I caught her checking me out. And damn it all, she hadn’t liked me calling her on it, had she? Her sweet ass probably paced all over her apartment, pissed I was onto her….

  Oh, shit. I p
ass a hand over my face, muttering to myself, “Okay, asshole, exactly what are you doing here?”

  “Fuck you. I’m here to get a report, dumbass.”

  I grumble a swear. I don’t have to turn around to know Lu’s here, pissed, and has likely been eyeing me like a hawk. I glance at the clock. She’s early. Way early. Damn. Considering she’s two donuts shy of the big one, she moves like a shadow.

  I hit the locks, allowing her into the passenger side. “What are you doing here, Lu? Your shift doesn’t start for another forty.”

  She scrunches her small nose and gives me the once-over. “I’m here on account of you and me have a few things to cover.”

  I straighten. “This about Joey?”

  “Yup.” She waves me off when I start cursing. “Don’t get your thong in a bunch, O’Brien. The captain just wants me to check on you. See how you’re doin’.”

  “I’m done talking. Did enough of it yesterday when Internal Affairs showed up.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re just following procedure. Especially since the trial’s been moved up.”

  “So I hear,” I mutter, knowing the county wants to get rid of this mess fast.

  Lu taps the armrest, ignoring my scowl. “So, you gonna tell me how you are?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She stops drumming her fingers. “No, you’re not. You watched your rookie get shot to shit.”

  “Don’t need reminding, Lu.”

  She purses her lips and nods. “Actually, O’Brien, you sorta do. See, you and me, we kind of have this situation.”

  I frown. “What situation?”

  “We both need time.” She points to Tess’s apartment. “Take a look at where we’re sittin’. We’re in some goddamn senior citizen compound one EMS call from the morgue, watching some princess the mob’s not going to do shit to. You know why?”

  “Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

  “Don’t be a smartass, and pay attention on account of what I have to tell ya’s important.”

  “Of course it is—” She smacks me upside the head hard enough to send my hat soaring into the dashboard. “Shit! What the hell, Lu?”

  “You’re fucked up, O’Brien. You need the time this assignment’s offerin’ to screw your head on straight. Otherwise, five years from now, you’re gonna be that cop who goes down to his cellar and fires a round into his skull.”

  I don’t like what she has to say, but that doesn’t mean I’m not listening. Suicide kills more cops than drug addicts and drive-bys.

  She shrugs, the business of being a cop laying deep lines into her face. “Me, I need this gig to slide into retirement,” she says. “Six months, O’Brien. That’s all I have left before me and the old man hop in a Winnebago and leave the scum on the street behind us.” She rams her finger in my face. “I’ve had the shit knocked out of me by fat naked men with hairy asses, and dragged too many dead whores from the sewer. I’m done, O’Brien. But you, you’re just getting started. So take this time to get your shit together and maybe we’ll both make it to retirement in one piece.”

  “Anything else?” I ask.

  That earns me another smack upside the head. “Yeah. Don’t be an asshole, don’t get me shot, and don’t fuck the princess we’re supposed to be watchin’.”

  Chapter 6

  Curran

  It’s late Friday night and snow’s dropping like the evil bitch she is. Meanwhile, Declan’s scribbling notes at warp speed and Tess is alternating between flipping through law books and scrolling through her iPad.

  Montenegro’s third was set free. He wouldn’t talk, and there was nothing to hold him once his snitches disappeared.

  “Deck, it’s late. Call it a night. We’ve been at this for hours.”

  Declan stops scribbling, his face tighter than panties on a prom queen. “No, we’ve been at this for hours. You’ve been sitting here watching.”

  “Watching your ass, dipshit. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

  Tess focuses fully on Declan, like I’m not even here. Something she’s done a lot lately, and something that really pisses me off. “There has to be something we can bring to Judge Bronson so he can grant a search and seizure. Something we’re missing,” she insists.

  Declan throws his pen down. “We have nothing. On paper, this perp looks cleaner than the priest who baptized me.”

  “But he’s not. With all these witnesses suddenly making themselves scarce—”

  “Or dead,” Declan finishes for her.

  Her expression turns grim. Even with her limited experience, she wants to help. That much is obvious. “There has to be something we can do,” she adds, quietly. “There’s almost no point sentencing Montenegro and his second if this man’s set to take over the family.”

  I scroll through my phone when she and Deck start talking strategy again. My sister sent me a text, bitchin’ about catching our little brother banging some chick in her bed. I laugh, picturing the look on Wren’s face when she walked in on them. I pocket my phone in time to catch Declan’s glare and Tess’s disapproving head shake. Great, two of them. “What?” I ask.

  “This isn’t a laughing matter,” Tess tells me. “We need to bring in the third in command and put the squeeze on him.”

  “ ‘The squeeze on him’? Seriously?” I look at Declan, ignoring her flushing face. “Guess what?” I say to him. “Wren caught Finnie screwin’ in her bed—on her new sheets, too.”

  Declan’s eyes narrow further. “You’re such an imbecile,” he tells me. “Do you realize what I have on the line here—the opportunity to take down a mafia empire. Do you think I care what Finnie did?”

  “You should,” I answer. “He got the girl pretending to be you.” I barely keep it together when he leans back in his chair and covers his face. “I’ve gotta give him credit,” I say, continuing to play dumb. “You and him do look a lot alike.”

  Declan mutters a curse and reaches for the law journal closest to him. “Whatever, Curran. I’ve got a case to prepare for.”

  Tess offers Declan a sympathetic glance before crossing her arms and fixing her tightening expression my way. I don’t know who’s more on edge, her or him. She’s barely spoken to me these past two weeks, even on the rides back to her place. She hasn’t smiled much and she sure as anything hasn’t laughed—not since I called her on checking me out.

  I kept up with the jokes, trying to draw that smile that lightens her face, and occasionally I managed. But something’s off about her, and the more time that passes, the more she seems to fade away.

  Maybe school’s getting to her. Her bag is always spilling with law books and notes when I pick her up at U Penn. Maybe it’s this case. Or maybe I’ve pushed her too far. Damn shame I can’t seem to stop trying to get a rise out of her. Just like I can’t stop picturing her naked since she brought it up. It’s times like this I wish for Superman’s X-ray vision. What I wouldn’t give to see her—

  “I don’t believe you,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “This is important, and yet you sit here swearing like a prepubescent boy drunk off his father’s stolen scotch.”

  “Actually, we used to sneak Pop’s Irish whiskey.” She stills, like it’s taking everything she has not to fling Declan’s stapler at me. “Just speaking the truth,” I tell her.

  She sighs. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

  I grin. “You mean metrosexual with a small dick? Sorry, babe.” I motion to myself. “I gotta use the gifts God gave me.”

  Declan looks up then. “Fuck you. I don’t have a small dick.” He coughs into his hand when Tess’s eyes fly open. If he hadn’t been working the hours he had, or putting so much pressure on himself, he never would’ve said anything like that with her around. “Look, Curran. Either help us or keep your trap shut,” he mutters.

  I lean back in my chair. “Fine. What about his gumad?”

  Tess pauses in the middle of reaching for the law journal closest to her. “What?”

  “
His gumad. You know, his mistress. He probably stashed evidence at her place.”

  Declan levels his stare at me. “You know this for a fact?”

  I consider his question. “What I know is she’s a former stripper who isn’t stripping, and who has sweet digs near the Liberty Bell. You don’t buy something like that with no money. Someone bought it for her. I’m guessing the third in command hooked her up.”

  Tess cocks her head. “Why him specifically?”

  “Because word on the street is the third owns the strip joint he met her in,” Declan answers with a grin.

  I place my hands behind my head. “Word on the street also says she likes coke. Watch her. Catch her buying, get your search and seizure.”

  “Can we do that?” Tess asks, excitement building in her tone.

  Declan answers with a stiff nod. “Get me Santana from Narcotics on the phone.”

  Tess scrolls through her list of contacts on her iPad and reaches for Declan’s office phone. “You couldn’t have brought this up earlier, asshole?” he asks.

  I don’t hide my grin. “I would have if you’d asked nicely enough.”

  “Excuse me, Declan,” Tess interrupts, but not before I catch her smiling my way. “Detective Santana is ready for you.”

  He takes the phone, and within an hour, he has someone watching the gumad. Problem is, all the excitement gives him and Tess a second wind. “Deck, come on. It’s Friday night.” I motion to Tess. “Don’t you think your girl here deserves the night off?”

  He surprises me by giving it some thought. “Maybe you’re right.” He looks at her then. “How about dinner?”

  Da fuck?

  Tess beams at him. “That would be wonderful—I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all. Do you like sushi?”

  Her smile brightens. “Oh, yes, I love sushi.”

  I rise slowly, telling myself there’s no reason to beat his ass. No reason to call him out for being a two-faced prick. Never mind. There is. This is the same idiot warning me to keep my distance, and to stop “looking at her that way” every time I did.