Kiss Shot (Dublin Mafia: Triskelion Team, Book 2)

by Zara Keane

  In the midst of this cacophony, the puppy quivered against Shane’s chest. He stroked the animal on autopilot. “You sure you want to hang around?” he asked Ruthie. “The receptionist said it could take a while.”

  Her warm smile sent prickles of awareness down his spine. “No problem. My only plan for this morning was getting in a session at your cousin’s gym. Seeing as that’s not happening, I might as well wait and give you and your new pal a lift home.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but he won’t be coming home with me. I’m hoping the vet can recommend a good animal shelter that can find him a family. Maybe one with kids and a garden for him to run around.” He scratched under the puppy’s chin and was rewarded with a lick. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Ruthie gave the dog a pitying look. “You seriously think anyone will…” At the sight of his raised eyebrow, she trailed off. “Never mind. Look, the lady with the kids is leaving. Let’s grab their seats.”

  They claimed the newly vacated chairs and found themselves wedged between the squawking budgie and a carrier basket filled with mewling kittens. The puppy burrowed deeper into Shane’s chest and whimpered. Shane stroked his back and whispered soothing words. He hadn’t owned a dog since Greg had run over Shane’s new puppy, Bosco, on Shane’s tenth birthday. Frank, annoyed by all the weeping and gnashing caused by Greg’s carelessness, had declared that no more pets would enter the Delaney household. And Frank was a man of his word.

  Ruthie cocked her head to the side and a grin spread across her pretty face. “No way are you giving him up.”

  “No way am I keeping him,” Shane replied. “My apartment building has a strict no-pets policy.”

  “You two look pretty comfortable together. Seems a shame to break you up.”

  “Ruthie,” he said in a drawl, “this dog is not coming home with me. I’m not a pet person. Besides, I live in a fifth-floor apartment that’s most definitely not pet-friendly, even if the building didn’t have a no-pets policy.”

  She grinned at him. “Whatever you say, Delaney.”

  Shane settled back in his chair. Despite the awful din going on around them, the puppy’s eyes fluttered shut and he was soon snoozing against Shane’s chest.

  Ruthie drummed a restless beat on the arm of her chair. In the few minutes since they’d taken their seats, she’d crossed and uncrossed her legs several times. Even as a kid, Ruthie had been a fidgeter—always impatient to be on the move. Shane smiled to himself. Age and maturity might have improved her looks, but they hadn’t instilled a sense of Zen in Ms. Ruthie Reynolds.

  After a few minutes, she leaped to her feet. “I’m parched. Want a drink?”

  “A mineral water would be good. Flat, please.”

  “Coming right up.” She sailed across the room, neatly dodging an escaped kitten and sidestepping its owner. As she moved, the gentle sway of her hips drew Shane’s attention to her pert backside. Who’d have thought combat pants could be sexy?

  Shane’s mouth grew dry and he blinked away an X-rated vision of a naked Ruthie—under him, on top of him, on her knees before him. He blew out a breath. Getting horny in the middle of a crowded waiting room wasn’t his usual modus operandi, but then, Ruthie wasn’t his usual kind of woman. Football…yeah, he’d think of football instead.

  Ruthie punched numbers into the vending machine and bent down to retrieve the water bottles from the tray at the bottom, providing him with a tantalizing glimpse of bare skin between the waist of her pants and her T-shirt. A stab of lust hit that was so visceral he could sense it in every cell. Shane bit back a groan. All his efforts to distract himself from having imaginary sex with her had been in vain. How in the hell had little Ruthie Reynolds grown into such a sexy piece?

  She strode back to their seats and handed Shane his bottle. When he reached to take it from her, their fingers touched. A frisson of awareness brought his gaze to hers. Hot damn, but she was gorgeous. In the depths of her brown eyes, he read a desire that matched his own. He swallowed hard. Man, he had to pull himself together.

  “Mr. Delaney? The vet will see you now.”

  The nurse’s words broke through Shane’s X-rated reverie. He wrenched his attention away from Ruthie and focused on the stocky nurse wielding a clipboard. “So soon? Are you sure it’s our turn?” He cast a glance around the packed waiting room. Several pairs of resentful eyes stared back at him.

  “Come along now,” the nurse said in a brisk tone. “Dr. McGrath is waiting for you.”

  Shane glanced at Ruthie. She shrugged. “What’s that they say about not looking a gift horse in the mouth?”

  “Want to come with me?” he asked on impulse, the words tripping off his tongue before he had a chance to register their significance.

  Ruthie’s beam lit up her face. “Sure. I’ve known Dr. McGrath for years.”

  They trailed after the nurse, who led them down a dimly lit corridor and into a bright examination room. The vet, a dapper man in his late forties, leaped to his feet and treated them to firm handshakes. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Ruthie. Had I known you were here, I’d have seen you at once.” The man punctuated his sentence with a one-shouldered shrug and turned to Shane. “I’ve treated Big Mike’s greyhounds for years. We’re old pals.”

  Insofar as anyone could be pals with their loan shark. Shane’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. So it wasn’t terror of the Delaney family that had prompted Dr. McGrath’s enthusiasm to bump them up the queue; he was scared shitless of Ruthie’s dad.

  Whatever vices the vet had that had led him to borrow money from Big Mike Reynolds, he proved to be an efficient and competent vet. He soon had the puppy examined, vaccinated, and dispatched with a nurse for a thorough bath and detangling. “No identity chip,” the vet said after the nurse had escorted the squirming animal out of the room. “Not that I expected to find one. Are you planning to keep him?”

  “I was hoping you could recommend a shelter for him. One that arranges adoptions.”

  The vet’s handlebar mustache twitched. “To be frank, Mr. Delaney, there’s no way that dog will find a home.”

  Shane shot a glance at Ruthie, who mouthed, I told you so. “If he doesn’t find a home, will he be put down?”

  “I’m afraid so. People are all for adopting rescue dogs these days, but only the cute ones.” The vet shook his head regretfully. “That dog isn’t pretty, but he’s a healthy little chap. Such a shame to see him destroyed.”

  Shane pictured the dog’s squashed face, long body, stumpy legs, and ridiculous bushy tail. Aw, hell. “No one is destroying him,” he said firmly. “He’s coming home with me.”

  8

  After the visit to the vet, Ruthie drove Shane to a pet shop, where he stocked up on what the shop owner assured them were just a few puppy essentials: food, bowls, travel cage, basket, and toys.

  “That’s a lot of stuff for one puppy,” Ruthie said as she slowed the car to a halt outside Shane’s apartment building. “You sure keeping him is a good idea?”

  “Hell no, but there was no way I was leaving him to be put down.”

  “What will your landlord say?”

  “He won’t be impressed.” Shane wrapped the wriggling puppy into his jacket and grinned. “Guess it’s time to look for another place.”

  “Don’t you mind? I thought you liked your bachelor pad.”

  “I do. Doesn’t mean I can’t like another. It’s just a place to sleep. Besides, I’ve been thinking of buying a house. Now is as good a time as any.”

  Hesitation flickered across Shane’s face, an accurate reflection of her own emotions. Without the alcohol to soften their inhibitions, neither knew how to act around the other. Despite their physical intimacy last night, they weren’t a couple, yet they’d made out. It was hard, if not impossible, to segue back into the “friends” category.

  Shane appeared to make up his mind. He leaned over and brushed her cheek with his lips. “Thanks for your help today, Ruthie. I owe you
one.”

  His lips felt soft against her skin, making it difficult to think straight. “I was happy to help. All you owe me is a word with Dan about me using the gym.”

  “I won’t forget.” Shane opened the passenger door and got out. Before he closed it, he leaned in again and gave her a bone-melting smile. “Want to meet me for a drink later this week? Preferably without Murph, Dec, or Kevin making an appearance.”

  Her heart performed a slow thump and roll. And it wasn’t purely because her plan to use Shane as her “in” with the Delaneys was working. “Sure,” she said, striving for calm and collected. “You have my number. Give me a call.”

  “I will.”

  He flashed her one last smile and was gone. Ruthie paused for a moment before starting the engine. God, he was gorgeous. And just as nice a guy as she’d remembered. Her efforts to get close to him were paying off, but she couldn’t shake the guilt. Shane had nothing to do with Kevin’s situation, yet she was about to betray Shane and his family in return for cash.

  She wiped her damp palms on the front of her combats and blew out a breath. Whatever happened, she needed to keep her cool. The last thing she needed was to lose her heart to Shane Delaney all over again. Which didn’t rule out having sex with the guy…

  She gave herself a mental shaking and gunned the engine. Dad was expecting her for dinner. “Dinner” in the Reynolds household was what other people called a hot lunch. Big Mike worked nights and insisted on cooking a warm meal at lunchtime. Her father was more of a gourmand than a gourmet, but he’d always made sure his kids ate at least one solid meal a day that included all the food groups. Even though it was just him and Kevin living at home, Big Mike hadn’t altered his routine.

  Her dad lived a few streets away from Shane’s newly built high-rise apartment block, but it might have been a different world. During the boom years of the late nineties and early two thousands, Kilpatrick had aspired to rival the upmarket areas of Dublin through the construction of fancy office and residential buildings in a spot previously occupied by warehouses. With the collapse of the economy, the construction boom ceased. Many of the offices and apartments were unoccupied, and Ruthie suspected Shane’s rent was reasonable. In contrast to the affectations of Carlisle Street, Clondale Terrace looked just as it had when she was a child: a respectable working-class street with no pretensions.

  Ruthie’s dad had parallel parked in front of their house. She pulled up behind his car and got out.

  After letting herself into the house with the key she still kept on her keychain even though she hadn’t lived with her dad in several years, Ruthie slung her sports bag on the floor and walked into the kitchen. Her father was at the stove, stirring an enormous pot of stew. Big Mike Reynolds was a large man, both in height and in girth, but he was solid muscle. Wearing an apron with his sleeves rolled up to reveal arms covered in tattoos, he looked incongruous yet adorable.

  Ruthie squeezed his arm. “Hey, Dad. How was your trip?”

  “Successful.” Big Mike beamed. “I should go to the Donegal races more often.”

  She leaned over to sniff the pot. “That smells good.”

  “I hope it tastes good. You need a decent meal to put some flesh on your bones.” Her father eyed her up and down with a twinkle in his eye. “Have they no food in Switzerland?”

  Ruthie slumped into a chair and smiled at her father. “They have great food, and I eat plenty. I just work out a lot.”

  “All the same…” Her father let his sentence trail off and turned his attention back to the stew.

  “Maybe you can come visit me, and I’ll prove to you that it’s possible to get a proper meal outside your kitchen.”

  Big Mike grunted. “You know me, Ruthie. I don’t do travel. I have no idea why people want to go gallivanting all over the world when we live in such a lovely country.”

  “Different strokes, I guess. I like seeing the world beyond Ireland.” The thump of music from her brother’s room brought a frown to Ruthie’s brow. “How’s Kevin today?”

  Her father shot her a knowing look. “He told me about you and Shane Delaney if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Ruthie’s cheeks grew warm. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “From what I heard, only because Kevin showed up at an inconvenient moment.” Her father’s expression of concern reignited her feelings of guilt for not confiding in him, but she knew him well enough to know he’d go ballistic. And pissing off the Kowalski brothers wouldn’t be a smart move, not even for a man like Big Mike Reynolds.

  “You don’t need to worry about me, Dad. I can look after myself.”

  “I know you’re all grown up,” her father said, dishing three generous portions of Irish stew into bowls, “but I’ll always worry about you. It’s what dads do.”

  Tears stung Ruthie’s eyes but she blinked them back. Her getting weepy would embarrass both of them. Instead, she set the table and was busy filling their water glasses when Kevin entered the kitchen. He looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backward.

  “Did the smell of food lure you downstairs?” she asked, keeping her tone light. She hadn’t seen her brother since she’d put him to bed last night. Difficult to know what he remembered—nothing, she hoped.

  Kevin glared at her. “Is Delaney with you?”

  So much for that hope. “Shane is at home.”

  “How do you know that?” Her father placed bowls of steaming hot stew on the table and eyed his daughter with suspicion. “Did you see him this morning?”

  “He was at Dan’s gym.”

  Her father’s expression darkened. “I don’t want you seeing Shane, love. Those boys are magnets for trouble.”

  “And we’re pillars of the community?” Ruthie rolled her eyes. “You recommended I join Dan Schneider-Delaney’s gym. You knew his cousins trained there.”

  Big Mike took the seat across from her and Kevin, his frown lines deeper than usual. “I’ve got nothing against Shane personally, but there’s…stuff…going on in Kilpatrick. I don’t want you mixed up in any shenanigans. You’re better off getting back to Switzerland and living your life.”

  His enthusiasm to get rid of her stung. “‘Stuff’ covers a lot of ground, Dad. Care to be more specific?”

  “Jimmy Connolly got gunned down a few weeks ago,” Kevin supplied. “Rumor has it the Delaneys were involved.”

  “There are a lot of Delaneys. Does rumor have it that Shane was responsible?”

  “No,” her father conceded, “but all the same…”

  “All the same nothing,” Ruthie said with emphasis. “Kilpatrick has more than its fair share of career criminals. There’s no reason to suppose Shane is responsible for Connolly’s murder. I’d have thought that was more in Lar’s line.”

  “It is,” her father said, “but Lar’s not stupid enough to kill a man in his own neighborhood.”

  “Neither is Shane.”

  “Maybe not, but the atmosphere doesn’t sit right with me.” Her father shook his bald head. “Something is up in Kilpatrick, and I want no part of it.”

  Ruthie resisted the urge to steal a glance at her brother. Big Mike had spent years navigating the choppy waters of the Dublin criminal underworld, careful to make enough money to take care of his family and equally cautious about not rising too high to be seen as a threat by the big players. If Dad found out about Kevin’s debt to the Kowalskis, he’d throw years of caution and common sense to the wind. All the more reason for her to make sure he remained in blissful ignorance.

  “Eat your stew, Dad, and let’s change the subject.” She plastered a smile on her face. “How are the dogs?”

  Her father took the hint and spent the rest of the meal regaling her with stories of his greyhounds’ racing prowess. He deflected all questions about his work and social life, but this was nothing new. Dad had always avoided talking business and personal stuff with his daughter, preferring to focus on their family life—or what was left of it.

/>   Kevin was monosyllabic and picked at his food. He only spoke when asked a direct question. Suddenly, mid-meal, he stood and shuffled out of the room. A moment later, they heard the front door close. Ruthie forced herself to swallow the food in her mouth. Her dad’s delicious stew now tasted like sawdust. Big Mike refused to meet her gaze. They both knew what Kevin was doing: going out in search of his next hit.

  In silence, Ruthie helped her father clear up after lunch and fixed them two large mugs of coffee.

  “Dad,” she finally began in a cautious tone, “Kev should have treatment. He barged into my room last night with a knife.”

  Her father stared at her in horror. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. He was in one of his paranoid phases and convinced he was being followed.

  Unseeing, her father dumped two heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee.

  “I’m serious,” Ruthie said, more forcefully this time. “You have to take steps to have him hospitalized.”

  Big Mike’s head jerked up and pain flashed through his dark eyes. “You know I don’t want him locked up. Why did you come home, Ruthie? And don’t give me that bull about feeling homesick. If you just wanted to see us, you could have stayed a few days. Are you home because of Kevin?”

  No point in denying the obvious. “He needs help, Dad.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” Her father’s expression crumpled. “I’ve tried everything. Bar chaining him up at home, there’s nothing more I can do.”

  “Kevin should be in the hospital,” she repeated.

  A flash of belligerence crossed over his face. “How many times do I have to tell you I won’t lock my son up? I have one son in prison. I’m not having the other incarcerated.”

  “Kevin is out of control,” she insisted. “He’s a danger to himself and others.”

  Her father bristled. “We don’t know that. He’s been in a few fights, yeah, but no more than other lads.”

  “He’s a ticking time bomb, and you know it.”