by K. A. Tucker
So they weren’t surprised to find two potential hit men near Aengus’s house. I wonder if Duffy was there. “That’s all?”
He holds the paper up to show me the picture of a small white detached house sitting front and center in the dusk, the “For Sale” sign at the bottom right corner. “They made sure to get the known address included. I’m sure that’ll get prospective buyers chomping at the bit.”
I wander over to the coffeemaker to pour myself a cup. “Did Ivy just leave?”
“She had a client this morning. She wanted to get home to shower and change first.”
Really . . . “Did something happen between you two?”
“A gentleman never tells.” He folds the paper up with a smirk. “Don’t you birds all talk about this kind of stuff?”
“Ivy and I are a little bit different.”
“Well, Ivy’s certainly different.” He stands and stretches, giving me a good view of his chest and the bandage covering his tattoo. He’s muscular like River, only much leaner. “I can’t figure her out.”
“Yeah, she’s a tough one to read.”
“But I do like her.” Tipping his mug back to finish his coffee, he loads it into the dishwasher and then grabs his shirt. “Thank you for last night, Amber. I appreciate it. I know this isn’t something you, or anyone, wants to get mixed up in.”
“Glad I could help.”
“When do ya leave, again?”
“Sunday morning.” These last few days will go quickly.
He throws an arm around my neck and pulls me into his chest in a friendly way. “We better see you again before ya leave.”
I smile. “You will.”
A long pause. “River’s a good guy. And he’s mad about you. You know that, right?”
I flush. This is the first time I’ve ever had a remotely serious conversation with Rowen. “The feelings are mutual.” Which makes this all that much harder.
“I’ve got to go open up the pub, but can ya make sure he gets there by one? I’m in class all afternoon and into the evening. I can’t cover for him again.”
“Got it.”
Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he disappears out the door.
It’s ten fifteen now. That gives me less than three hours with River before he leaves. Pouring a coffee for him, I carry it upstairs to my room. He’s just stirring as I set it on the nightstand beside him.
“What time is it?” he asks, his voice raspy and sexy.
I sit next to him, taking the opportunity to trace the ridges of his stomach muscles with my fingers. “After ten. You need to be at the pub by one.”
“Right. It’s Wednesday. Rowen has class.” He rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “I’ve got a few errands to run before then. What do you have planned for today?”
I sigh. “Well, I was thinking that I haven’t been to Cork or the Cliffs of Moher. I’m going to regret not seeing those places.”
His hand settles onto my thigh. “You should definitely go. I don’t want you to have any regrets from Ireland.” The look in his eyes tells me he isn’t just talking about the Cliffs.
“But both places are three hours away, so I’d probably need to stay overnight.” Right now, I can’t think of doing anything that doesn’t involve having River in my bed again tonight. “I guess there’s no chance you could come with me?”
He groans. “I’d love to, Amber. Honestly. But with Rowen’s classes . . . and he has some sort of test tomorrow.”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
“Tell you what. Go to Cork tonight and I’ll get Nuala or someone to cover the bar with Rowen tomorrow night and Friday afternoon. Then we can go to the Cliffs.”
Excitement stirs in my stomach. “Okay.”
“Grand. So go . . . stay in Cork tonight.” His hands find my waist and he pulls me onto him with surprising ease, tugging my leg over to straddle his, his morning erection pressing against me. My nightshirt comes off with quick, expert hands, leaving me in nothing but my panties. He pushes those aside. “But make sure you come back to me tomorrow.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
RIVER
“Bloody perfect,” I mutter, eyeing the towering steeple and stained-glass windows on my left as I ease my car into a parking spot, the gravel crackling beneath my wheels. Leave it to Aengus and Jimmy to be hiding out on holy property. Up ahead is the grand new building that serves as the parishioners’ hall. Next to it is the old meeting place—a long, narrow ramshackle shed-like structure, no longer in use for anything but storage.
That’s where Aengus told me to meet him.
I push through the heavy wooden door. It slams shut behind me, trapping me in the dank, dingy space.
“River.” Aengus appears suddenly from around a stack of boxes as tall as me, a bottle of beer in hand. “What the bleeding hell happened? Jimmy just told me.”
He and Jimmy seem to be getting tighter. “Exactly what the paper said happened.”
“The old bird across the way called gardai?”
“That’s likely.” The lie is easier to deal with.
“Fuck,” he hisses, turning to spit on the ground, his saliva joining the ranks of countless others on the gritty floor. “Has that cocksucker been back again?”
When I first called Aengus to deliver the warning from Duffy, he flew off the handle, a string of foul language that could strike a nun dead tumbling out of his mouth.
“No. And I think you should be a little grateful to him for the warning. If not for that, you could have been shot dead on our doorstep.”
He twists his thin lips, not wanting to give me the satisfaction of being right, even though that pea-sized brain of his knows I am.
“Come on.” He leads me around the bend and into a dim rectangle of a room, which houses a small table on the far side, with four men sitting at it. I try to ignore them, letting my eyes roam the drab brown panel walls, the stained brown carpet, the hard brown plastic cafeteria chairs.
Brown, brown, brown.
“Cozy.” I want to leave now.
“I’ve had worse,” he mutters, a wry smile curling his thin lips. “Besides, it’s safe here.” He takes another sip.
“It’s noon on a Wednesday, Aengus.” I flick the bottle. “Take a break.”
He ignores me.
“Who do you think told Duffy about the Green anyway?”
“Probably one of Beznick’s guy. Or Beznick, himself. That’s the only person I can think of.” His eyes search the floor as he combs his thoughts. “Though very few people know it was me. You, me. Jimmy, and he’s not gonna say a thing.”
Unless he’s braggin’, which he’s been known to do.
“The security guard at the Green, but he’s Jimmy’s cousin. And Bobby made the device.”
My eyes flicker over to the squat man, his face sallow, his balding head hiding beneath a cap. He went away the same time we did. I always thought that he knew far too much about explosives.
“That’s it, I think.” He pauses. “Other than the American.”
“I told you, she was in shock. And she wouldn’t have even seen ya.”
“But she saw you.”
“No way.”
Aengus rubs his brow. “Well then I don’t know.”
The heavy door slams and a few moments later, Jimmy rounds the corner with another guy who I’ve never seen before. Jimmy’s eyes land on us immediately. With a wave to the other guy, he heads straight for us. “River. Good to see you. What do we owe this visit to?”
“Just checking in on my brother.”
He takes a deep breath but otherwise shows no sign of deep concern. “Aengus told me that garda came to Delaney’s. You handled it well.”
I shrug. “I had nothing to tell them.”
“Right. Why don’t you come and sit. Have a beer.”
“I’ve got to get to the pub. But thanks,” I add begrudgingly.
“We’ll keep an eye out, make sure he’s safe. We won’t let those bastards do anythi
ng to him.” He pats my shoulder, like we’re buddies and he’d be more than happy to help me out. That’s how Jimmy works. You’re a sparkle in his eye as long as he needs you for something, but he’ll turn on you the second it pays to do so. I’ll give Aengus one piece of credit—he’s always been nothing but loyal.
“And Aengus . . . lay off the beer. You need to be alert.” As much as my brother pisses me off, I don’t want to be burying him anytime soon. “See ya.” I pass the guy Jimmy came in with on my way out. He nods at me, giving me a good look at the line bisecting his black shaved hairline.
That’s the guy that Francis O’Reilly—my favorite regular—was talking about.
And now I know.
Fucking Jimmy isn’t just extorting Dublin’s gangs. He’s also going after innocent business owners. My feet slow to a stop in front of the man.
“Yeah?” he says in a deep, raspy voice, rolling his shoulders back.
There’s no point in starting something here. Even simple accusations can get you killed with these kinds of fellas. But it makes me sick, just knowing that this piece of shit has threatened Francis, and his lovely wife, and their children.
Does Aengus truly not realize what’s going on? If he does . . . well then, he deserves whatever’s coming to him. I just don’t want to be dragged down with him.
I shove the heavy door open, my teeth gritted, promising myself that this is it.
No more visits.
No more warning calls.
I’m done protecting Aengus.
“It’s so charming here,” Amber purrs into my ear. It’s just after eleven and we finally got the last customer out. I’m sure she’s in bed.
“I know it is. I wish I were there with you.”
“I kissed the Blarney Stone.”
“Tourist,” I accuse with a grin. “And how was that experience?”
“Kind of dirty. I wiped my lips right after.” She giggles. “And the little inn that I’m staying in is adorable. The pathway up to the door is lined with rosebushes, and the lady who runs it serves scones in the morning. Everyone here sounds so different from you.”
“That’s because they’re from the south. See? I told you it was a good idea.”
“I know it was. It’s just . . .” Silence hangs over the phone.
“I know. But we still have tomorrow, Friday, and Saturday.” And if I let myself think I’m ever going to see her again after Sunday, once distance and time has woven its magic, I’m as big an idiot as the rest of them. But at least I got this much, which is more than I deserved. “Listen, you going to be up for a while? We’re going to finish closing here. I should be home in an hour.”
“Okay, I’ll try to stay awake,” she says through a yawn. “I’m exhausted from last night.”
“So am I,” I admit, unable to keep my wide grin from spreading. I can’t wait for a repeat. Tomorrow. “Get some sleep. If I don’t talk to ya again tonight, I will in the morning. First thing.”
“Okay.”
“ ’Night, Amber.”
She makes a soft sound—a mix between a moan and a purr—that gets my blood stirring. “ ’Night.”
“Is this what life is going to be like now?” Rowen mutters. “Me working while you whisper into your phone?”
“Shut up, dickhead.” He came in to help me with the last hour, letting Nuala go home early. I snatch the end of the wet towel just before he manages to snap my thigh with it and yank it out of his hand, reversing the move. He tears around the bar to get away before I can make contact.
A sudden pounding against the door has us both frowning at each other.
“Open up!”
There’s no mistaking Aengus’s voice.
“Fuck. What is he doing here?” Rowen heads over to unlock the door and let him in.
Aengus stumbles through, slamming the door shut behind him. I guess he didn’t lay off the beer, like I told him to. Good job taking care of him, Jimmy.
“You’re supposed to be gone to ground!” I yell. “What the fuck are you doing in here? Did anyone see ya?”
“No one saw me,” he slurs. “It’s dark, and I’m stealthy as an alley cat.”
Rowen snorts but says nothing, busying himself with the last remaining chairs needing stacking. Wanting to get away from him, I’ll bet. Aengus is a mean drunk.
“And besides, those two fuckheads who were waiting for me on our street are in prison, so I guess Beznick’s out of luck for now.”
“Why are you even out? Where’s Jimmy?”
“Ah . . .” He waves a dismissive hand. “Can’t I come see me brothers? Hang out in me own pub? This place is rightfully mine and I’m not even allowed to come in for a pint? I have to sneak through dark alleys and beg you to let me in!”
Rowen shoots me a warning glance, not that it’s needed. I’m not about to give Aengus a reality check about the future ownership of Delaney’s.
“Grab a stool, Aengus.” I sigh, holding a fresh glass up to the Smithwick’s tap. At least we haven’t cleaned it out for the night yet.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He kicks one over to sit opposite me.
“Rowen?”
“May as well,” he mutters. Aengus can be the true sense of the term barfly. A fucking nuisance that’s impossible to rid ourselves of once he’s in.
I’m just setting a pint down in front of Aengus when the door flies open and a short fella steps in, his face covered from the nose down by a black handkerchief. I see the smile in his cold, narrow eyes. “Tit-for-tat, Delaneys.” He rolls something onto the floor and disappears out the door as quickly as he came, slamming it shut behind him.
I have just enough time to see the long tube.
Just enough time to see the wick at the end, sizzling as it burns.
Just enough time to catch Rowen’s eyes.
TWENTY-EIGHT
AMBER
“Amber.”
“Hey, Ivy!” I’m surprised to hear from her, especially at eight in the morning. I got an early start to the day, wanting to explore a bit more before heading back to Dublin. River told me he’d come pick me up at the house by three. “Have you been to Cork before?”
“No.”
“Ugh! You have to come. Even you would appreciate this place. It’s so charming. I’ve never seen anything like it.” My gaze absorbs a kaleidoscope of colors as I stroll down the narrow sidewalk. Each storefront is painted in vibrant hues—a bed-and-breakfast in gold and rust, a tea shop in peacock blue and brick, a woman’s dress shop in canary yellow and indigo—and adorned with flowers and kitschy signs.
I sigh, sipping on the latte that Mrs. Harrington made for me before I left the quaint little inn. Such a sweet old lady. Her husband, too. They let me leave my car in their driveway for the morning.
“I guess you haven’t seen the news yet?” There’s something odd in her voice that I can’t quite grasp.
I stop walking. “No . . . why?”
“You need to come back to Dublin. Like, right now.”
I clocked well over two thousand hours in the hospital last year. Enough time that I’ve gotten used to the smells and the beeping sounds and eerie quiet. Enough time that I find comfort within those walls, able to navigate wings and signage without a second thought.
Today, though, after a white-knuckled three-hour drive home, turning onto the wrong side—or right side, in my opinion—of the road a dozen times, a frenzy of terrified thoughts distracting my focus, I’m finding no comfort within these Dublin hospital walls.
“Hey.” Ivy’s face so rarely shows any emotion that just the sight of her now—her brow pulled tight, a black mascara streak on her cheek—nearly unravels me.
“Have you heard anything?”
“Nothing.”
I heave a sigh, but it brings no relief to the tightness in my chest. “Thank you. For calling, and for tracking them down.” I passed out five minutes after talking to River last night. I figured he was still sleeping this morning when I texted him,
though I was anxiously awaiting a response.
Now I know why I haven’t gotten one yet.
She simply shrugs and then leads me down a hall toward the reception desk in the emergency room waiting area. A young, mousy nurse sits behind it, chewing on the end of a pen. Her badge says her name is Sally, and it makes me think of the McNally sisters.
“Hi, our friends were brought in this morning after an incident at their pub. I was hoping you could give us some information.” I cross my fingers, having no idea how willing she’ll be to share details with me, seeing as I’m not family.
“Names?” Sally’s voice—deep and husky and laced with a heavy Dubliner accent—is a complete contradiction to her appearance.
“River and Rowen Delaney.”
Her glasses shift with her frown. “Right. Terrible thing that happened.”
My stomach clenches with her words, tears ready to flood my cheeks. This doesn’t sound promising.
“You’re American. You must be,” she checks a sticky note, “Amber Welles?”
“Yes.”
When she catches my curious frown, she explains, “River’s been asking for you. Sent his mother here to make sure we let you in. Room 114—through that door and take a left.” Her gaze shifts to Ivy.
“She’s with me,” I say.
She hesitates. “I’m not supposed to—”
“Look, I get it, Sally. I’m a nurse too, back home.” I plead with her compassionate side, the one that may overlook policies. “She’ll be in and out. She just needs to see Rowen. Even if it’s for a minute.”
The nurse’s voice drops. “Go quickly, before the regular desk nurse comes back from break. She won’t let you back there.”
“Thank you.” Tugging at Ivy’s arm, I hurry her along as I follow the directions, my worry growing with each step. I hold my breath as I peek through the window of Room 114, unsure of what I’m about to see, fearing the worst.
“Oh, thank God,” slips through my mouth with a heavy exhale as I immediately spot River sitting upright on the edge of the bed closest to the window, already dressed in jeans and a shirt. Aside from a few mild scratches on his cheek and a small bandage above his left eyebrow, he appears to be fine. The crushing weight that’s been sitting on my chest all morning lifts. Not fully, though, because the bed next to River’s is empty and stripped of all bedding.
