by K. A. Tucker
I gasp. “That’s . . . horrible!”
“Yeah, well, it happens,” River says casually, as if he made peace with it long ago. “And he had no family of his own, so running Delaney’s is all on Rowen and me now.”
“But, you’re not the oldest, are you?”
“No . . .” River’s forehead puckers. “Aengus isn’t interested.”
There’s something very wrong with this brother. I can feel it in the air every time River mentions him. But I don’t like that feeling, so I change the topic back to us. “So, after Rowen finishes class . . .”
He yanks his shirt over his head with a smile. “Then we’ve got the after-work crowd.”
“And after that?”
“After that . . .” He dives back down for another kiss. “I’m coming to get ya.” His lips stretch into a smile, even pressed against mine.
“That’s right. You are.”
He breaks away, pressing his forehead against mine. “You’re far too good for me, ya know that, right?”
“Like Charles Beasley and Marion McNally?”
He chuckles. “See? You’re hooked. You’re going to be begging me to tell you that story again.”
“At least twice a week, at bedtime.”
With a heavy sigh, he stands and stretches, peering down at me, a strange look on his face.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just . . .” He hesitates. “I wish you didn’t live so far away.”
“I know. I’ve been trying not to think about that,” I admit, chasing away the sadness that comes with the reminder. I haven’t completely dismissed the notion that came to me last night while resting against his body, to just stay in Ireland for the next three months. It is crazy, of course, and my conscience was quick to remind me that I promised myself not to abandon my plans for a man ever again. I’m trying to ignore that little voice for the time being. Besides, now that I’m out of the sex haze, I realize that it’s not something I can decide today. Or even suggest to River. For all I know, this thing between us is so appealing to him—and to me—because I’m leaving on Sunday.
Still, knowing he’s at least thinking the same thing brings me comfort.
“But, since I do live so far away . . .” I slowly push the sheets down, until the cool morning air skates against my exposed skin.
River’s breath hitches. With the quickest glance at the clock on the nightstand, he peels his clothes off.
NINETEEN
RIVER
I can always count on Rowen to be on time.
Except today, it would seem.
“What the hell happened to you?” I glance at the old grandfather clock that ticks away on the wall across from me. Though it doesn’t look like much—the wood dented, the glass casing scratched—it’s a Delaney family heirloom. “You’re an hour and a half late!”
“I needed a nap,” he mumbles, giving his eyes a good rub.
“A nap?”
He grins at me. “A nap.”
It finally clicks and I start chuckling. “I’m impressed.” Ivy’s obviously even harder to read than I ever suspected. “Her place or ours?”
He takes his time, stretching his arms over his head and releasing an exaggerated yawn. “Ours. Her cousin was home.”
“I hope you at least straightened the place up. The real estate agent called. She has a showing this afternoon.”
“Yeah. Did you warn Aengus? I haven’t seen him in days.”
“Left him a message.” The guy never answers his phone.
“Right. Danny! You ready for the next one?” he calls out to a regular—a lonely old man who comes in every day from one until four and drinks exactly two pints of Guinness.
“I’m heading to the office for a bit,” I announce on my way past with a load of glasses for the dishwasher. The truth is, I’d kill for a nap right now. The last time I glanced at the bedside clock last night it was after four, and it was a long while after that that I drifted off, too enthralled with studying Amber’s peaceful face.
If I inhale deeply enough, I can still smell her perfume.
Dropping into the desk chair with a groan, I power on the laptop, a luxury that Da fought for years, until Rowen and I gave up and fronted the cash. Once Da saw the value of it—how easily we could keep employee records, inventory lists, and the like—he reimbursed us.
Between the two of us, Rowen is the more computer literate. He’s taken college-level computer courses. I’ve thought about enrolling a few times, but I’ve always had one excuse or another not to do it. I know enough to get by. I can use the internet, which I open up now, Googling “map of Oregon.” The screen proves to me exactly how far Amber’s life is from mine. Searching images of the area, I get a glimpse into her world. It’s a beautiful one, full of mountains and farms that look very different from ours. Just for fun, I do a search of plane ticket prices. Seven hundred euro. Not too bad.
I heave a sigh. Fuck. Why does she have to be American?
And why am I even thinking about this right now!
Folding my arms over the desk, I lean forward and close my eyes, hoping a fifteen-minute nap will clear my mind of the ridiculous thoughts that have been churning inside my head since I kissed her goodbye at the door this morning.
Unfortunately, I don’t manage to drift off before Rowen barrels into the office. The second I look up, the second I see his face filled with worry, I know.
“A garda’s at the bar, asking for you.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He just asked when you’d be around.”
I sigh, closing out the tabs open on the screen, but not before Rowen sees them and shoots me a questioning stare. I ignore it. He trails me down the hall to the door. I crack it just enough to see down to the end of the bar, where the garda is sipping on his coffee and reading his paper, before ducking back. “He hasn’t said anything else?”
“No,” Rowen says, adding in a voice too low for the busboy washing dishes behind us to hear, “that’s the one with the hard-on for Aengus, isn’t it?”
“His name’s Duffy. Yeah.”
“What’s this about, River?”
“It’s probably nothing, as usual.” The gardai do this every once in a while, I remind myself. They think Delaney’s is a hub for IRA information. It’s not a big deal. I grab a rack of fresh glasses and push through the door, keeping my features relaxed and my eyes away from him as I make my way over to the counter.
“So you got the message?”
I look up, feigning surprise as the lanky-limbed man watches me from his seat, resting his elbows against the counter. “What message?”
His tight smile answers. “Have you talked to your brother lately?”
“A minute ago. He’s takin’ a piss but he’ll be out soon, if you need him.”
He scratches his temple, the only sign that he’s irritated. “How about the other one?”
“Aengus?” I shrug. “He was here two nights ago.”
“What for?”
The glasses clatter as I stack them noisily. “To have a pint.”
Duffy slides his cup out without a word, signaling a top-up. As much as I’d like to tell him to fuck off, that would be a bad idea. So I grab the coffeepot and fill him up.
“Did he talk to anyone?”
“He talked to lots of people. You know Aengus, always so social.” Rowen, stepping out from the back just now, hears me and snorts.
“Give me some examples of people he talked to, River.”
“I can’t recall. It was a Saturday night. You know what those are like around here.” I carry the emptied dish tray over to its special spot, where we load it with the dirty glasses and send them back for washing. Hoping this guy takes the hint that I’m not going to snitch on my brother, no matter how big of a bastard he is. “But you should track him down and ask him yourself.”
“I’m asking you.” He wipes at the light sheen of sweat across his forehead with a cloth. “We got an anonymous
tip that Aengus was meeting with Jimmy Conlon here.”
“Really . . .”
“We have an arrest warrant out for Jimmy.”
“Then it wouldn’t make much sense for him to show up here, now would it? He’d likely go to ground.”
“You would think. Especially seeing as we’re not the only ones who want him. Word is Beznick’s put a hit out on him.”
“They must really want him dead then.”
“What about you, Rowen?” Duffy shifts his questioning. “Did you see Jimmy Conlon in here on Saturday night?”
“Who?”
“Jimmy Conlon,” Duffy repeats.
“Sorry. Never met the fella,” Rowen offers. Smart kid. He’s not lying. He has never officially met Jimmy.
Duffy’s shrewd gaze lands on me. He’s losing patience. Good. Maybe he’ll leave us the fuck alone. “We got an anonymous tip that Aengus was behind the bomb in St. Stephen’s Green.”
I catch a flash in a mirror—Rowen’s head whipping around— but I ignore it, leveling Duffy with an even stare. I have a pretty good poker face, even when my insides are about to explode. “That’s a serious accusation.” As much as I should be shocked that the gardai have heard, I’m not. Some of the guys around Jimmy, including Aengus, have too much arrogance and not enough intelligence. They get drunk in pubs and boast, and the wrong person’s always listening.
“It is.” He nods, watching me closely. “Carries a sentence of at least fifteen years if we can prove it. And I will prove it, if it’s true.” He delivers the warning with a light voice, though his mood is anything but light. I know Duffy’s history. He lost his uncle and father to a bombing in Belfast in the ’90s. He’s been especially interested in dismantling all forms of IRA—both those who fight for a free Ireland and those who fight for the fight—since he put on a uniform.
“Well, you’ll have to ask Aengus about that. I’m sure he’ll tell ya the truth.”
His upper lip twitches. “I was wondering if you know anything about it, seeing as you two are so close.”
Of course it would appear that way. I visited him regularly, more than anyone else. “We haven’t been close in years. And no, I don’t. Sorry.”
“That’s good.” He pauses, adjusting his cap. “Because if I find out you’re lying about knowing something, I’ll put ya behind bars with him.” His stool scrapes against the floor as he stands. “Oh, and we also just heard that Beznick’s men may be after Aengus now too. Pass the message along to your brother, will ya?”
“Wait. What?” Rowen snaps, no longer pretending not to listen. “What does that mean?”
“It means that Aengus has done something to piss off the wrong people.”
“Ya need to do something to protect him, then. Isn’t that what the gardai’s for? Protecting people?”
“Didn’t ya hear? Gardai won’t be risking our lives for criminal organizations. We’ll no longer provide protection for known offenders because of these street wars they get themselves into. We’re only interested in protecting the innocent.” His dull blue eyes land on mine again. “I’m just letting ya know so ya can be watchful. And perhaps share information with me, River. I gather ya don’t want to be seeing the inside of Portlaoise anytime soon.”
The arse saunters out the front door of Delaney’s. I watch him, gritting my teeth. Coming into Delaney’s, in broad daylight, and threatening me, trying to get me to turn on my own blood?
Rowen closes the distance in three quick steps. “This isn’t nothing, River. What the hell has Aengus gotten himself into?”
I sigh. I’m so tired of this. And it’s never going to end. “Check the kegs before the rush.” There’s no way Rowen is getting pulled into this mess.
I slide my phone out of my pocket and head to the back, where I can deliver the warning to Aengus in private.
Fear gripping my guts tight.
I can’t go to prison.
Again.
TWENTY
AMBER
I brought my grandmother’s diamond stud earrings for a special occasion. They’ve sat, nestled in their cushioned case and tucked away with my valuables, for a month now. Today, I’m putting them on.
Because every day between now and Sunday is special. And I’m already sure that I don’t want to leave.
I check the clock. It’s twenty minutes to six. A text from River said he was just showering and then would be over. I’ve basically been counting down the hours since this morning, killing time at the Glasnevin Cemetery and St. Patrick’s Cathedral, my mind and emotions happily drowning in all thoughts River.
I’ve taken extra time getting myself ready. My hair is set in perfect curls, my mascara brushed on thick and smooth, my face contoured in just the right way. The canary-yellow halter dress I brought looks great against my tanned skin, even if it’s not ideal for Dublin’s crisp evening temperatures. My denim jacket will solve that problem, as well as the issue of my bruises, still visible on my right bicep and shoulder.
My cowboy boots—not a smart choice with limited space in my suitcase, but a requirement—finish the outfit perfectly.
I glance in the hallway mirror and smile. I want to steal his breath the second he sees me. I want River still thinking about me when I’m no longer here.
I want him to suggest that I stay.
The doorbell rings, and a rush of nerves and excitement erupts in my stomach.
I throw open the door.
The tall, lanky officer from the Green stands on my front porch, his smile polite and professional, but killing my excitement all the same. “Miss Welles. I’m Garda Duffy, if you remember.”
“Of course. How are you?” What are you doing here? His vehicle sits in the street behind him, his partner in the driver’s seat.
Duffy gestures inside, and it’s then that I notice the tan folder tucked under his arm. “May I come in?”
I’m guessing that I don’t have a choice here. “Of course.” I step back to make room for him, hoping I can get this over with before River arrives. Not that it would matter. As far as Duffy is concerned, he’s a friend I met at a bar.
“You certainly have some nice accommodations while you’re here.” He quietly takes inventory of the space, just like I’ve seen my dad do of any new place—his eyes drifting over the windows and doors and the empty couches. Identifying escape routes and potential threats, my dad would say, half in jest.
“I lucked out. The owner is away for the summer.” I lead him in to the dining room table.
“Were ya on your way out?” Garda Duffy asks. “Ya look all . . .” His eyes drift over my dress and boots. When he catches me watching him, he quickly adjusts his focus to his folder.
“Yeah, I was two minutes from leaving, actually.”
“This won’t take long,” he promises. Then pauses. “How have you been? Ya seem to be fine.”
“I’m okay. The bruising is going away and my lip has almost healed.” The dark spot left after the scab fell off will likely remain.
“Good. You haven’t called, so I imagine ya still don’t remember much about the man who fled the scene?”
“The man who saved my life?” I note his choice of words and I don’t appreciate them. They’re full of accusation. “No.” I swallow hard. It’s a lie, and I know it’s a lie, and yet it’s the only answer I want to give him.
“Right.” The slightest frown shades his gaze. “We’ve been given some information and I was hoping you’d be willing to take a look at these.” He lays a piece of paper out on the table. A mug shot. Duffy taps the face. “Does he look familiar to ya?”
The picture is of a tight-faced man with a mop of bright orange-red hair and a sneer. He looks every bit the part of a criminal—his eyes narrowed, his jaw square, his lips thin and hard, his expression not just unhappy with the circumstance, but generally unpleasant. “No, I’ve never seen him before,” I answer truthfully. I would have remembered a head of hair like that.
“Okay.” Duffy stuff
s the photo into his folder and lays down another. “How about this one?”
River’s eyes stare up at me.
I make a conscious effort to breathe, the shock a punch to my lungs. He looks to be a few years younger here, and clean-shaven. But there’s no mistaking him in this photograph.
This mug shot.
River’s been arrested before.
Even as nausea roils in my stomach, I remind myself that this could mean nothing. A fight that went wrong, a drunk-and-disorderly. River’s not exactly a saint. Neither is my brother.
It’s never come up in conversation, so it must not be a big deal, right?
Who did I just sleep with?
A guy who saved my life, who took shrapnel for me, I remind myself. Who has been nothing but kind and generous and sweet to me.
I feel Duffy’s eyes on me. Waiting for my answer.
And I know what that answer should be. I may have lied a minute ago about what I remember—something I can easily get away with because they’ll never see into my brain—but I know this man staring up at me from the picture. In some ways, very well. In too many ways, not at all.
And this is a police officer asking me.
“No.” The lie escapes before I can stop it. I clear my throat, keeping my eyes on River’s picture so Duffy can’t see the guilt. “I’m sorry.”
River’s face disappears into the folder. “Worth a shot, right?” I don’t miss the disappointment in Duffy’s voice. He was hoping for a different answer. “Thank you for being so cooperative, though. I know ya probably want to just forget this happened and move on. Enjoy the rest of your time in Ireland. And here.” He drops a business card on the table. I still have his other one in my purse. “Just in case you remember something. Even down the road.”
I trail behind him as he walks briskly to the front door, my feet made of lead.
“Who are they?” I blurt out. “Those men you just showed me.”
“Two brothers who got mixed up in some bad stuff.”
Brothers. The redhead must be Aengus. “Bad stuff?” My voice is too shaky. I steady it. “What kind of bad stuff?”
“The IRA kind.” He offers me a smile. “But don’t worry. I’ve put them both in prison once. If they were behind this, I’ll put them there again.”
