Shades of Doubt

Praise for the writing of Kally Jo Surbeck

Luck of the Irish: For The Love Of…

For The Love Of… is fantastic! Danger, suspense, drugs, murder, and a fiery romance…what more could readers want in a novel? Not to mention a sexy leading male that makes being involved with a hit man look good… It’s a perfect plot, with twists, turns and plenty of turmoil. I loved it!!! -- Ansley Velarde, The Road to Romance

For The Love Of… is a fast paced, action packed, humor biting wit rollercoaster ride… For her debut novel, Ms. Surbeck has an incomparable voice and she will stand out among her peers. I will be anxiously waiting her next book. -- Cassandra Leigh Buckles, Coffee Time Romance Readers looking for a suspenseful tale of revenge, with two characters who have equally intense personalities should pick up For The Love Of… It is a story that will give thrills and chills with a touching romance mixed in. -- Patti Fischer, Romance Reviews Today

For The Love Of… will keep you guessing until the last page. A fast paced, action packed, hot romance that grips your attention and doesn’t let go until you read the last word. -- Lisa Renee Jones, Romance at Heart With its first page, For The Love Of… will have you on the edge of your seat waiting to see what happens next… Kally does a wonderful job tying all the loose ends up and going out with as much bang as she started with. -- Amanda, Fallen Angel Reviews

Luck of the Irish: For The Love Of… is now available from Loose Id.

LUCK OF THE IRISH: SHADES OF DOUBT

Kally Jo Surbeck

www.loose-id.com

Warning This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

***** This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and some violence.

Luck of the Irish: Shades of Doubt Kally Jo Surbeck This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by Loose Id LLC 1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29 Carson City NV 89701-1215 www.loose-id.com

Copyright © March 2006 by Kally Jo Surbeck All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

ISBN 1-59632-216-0 Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

Printed in the United States of America

Editor: Erin Mullarkey Cover Artist: Scott Carpenter

Dedication So many people have really helped the Luck of the Irish come alive. Erin Mullarkey, my editor at Loose Id, LLC for her unflinching support and inspiration. My critique group: Melissa Schroeder, Irene Goodell, Kirsten Richard, Karen Docter, Jan Snyder, Cindy Woolf, Pamela Clare, and Melissa Mayhue for their attention to detail, their willingness to let me ramble, their enthusiasm in seeing my stories come to light, and their encouragement. My family. My sisters, Tre and Twyla have been my solid support, my Mom and Dad, my pillars. My extended family, couldn't do it without you. And particularly to RBL for their constant encouragement. Lastly, to the Loose Id, LLC management for their belief and continued support in realizing this series.

Introduction

For those who don’t know me, let me take a brief moment to introduce myself. I’ve always been a civic-minded, patriotic, do-my-duty tax attorney who definitely would not consider herself paranoid, law-breaking, or overly emotionally fragile. At least, that’s how I would have described myself four years ago. The description fit me to the proverbial tee. I had both feet forward on the pathway to my dreams, the roadwork paved, the course clear. That’s how it was until I met the woman who changed my world. Mackenzie Harmon. And him -- Gabriel Zumbrenen, her husband. Until they waltzed into my world without a care for the utter whirlwind they carried in their cumulative turbulent wake. Those two turned my life around from state-of-the-art, run-of-the-mill complacency to topsy-turvy, borderline lawbreaking in no time flat. A matter of days, really. Sure, I was my mother’s little girl and maybe raised a teensy bit on the sheltered side. Not bad, just a little. I knew I lived the good life, and was perfectly content with that static norm. It suited me. For the majority of my life I’d had two parents, a family Dalmatian, old money ... new money. I had it all and thought life good. My career looked solid, if only I could choose where I wanted to work. Yes, I know; the dilemma! See, I was visiting a firm in Toronto. Thought to set up some good crosscommunications between them and us, and well, maybe see if we could figure out some beneficial joint tax breaks for all of the commuters. The trip had been a huge success of mixed blessings. The firm thought they’d like to hire me.

2

Kally Jo Surbeck

I thought I’d like a change of pace. The challenge of something new -- even though I wasn’t certain that I wanted to travel every day to Canada, trekking the fair-sized commute - did hold appeal. When the partners came into my office and proposed the promotion, I played it cool. At least I think I did. I told them I’d think about it. And I did. Boy, did I ever think about it. The possibilities cornered my thoughts the rest of the day, batting the fragile idea into the corner and caging the vacillating views there where the only relief they received was being batted from one wall to the other. Finally, when I thought I couldn’t think about it any more, I made a long list of black PROs and red CONs -- love lists -- then stared at that for hours. Hard not to see the beauty and lure of how the job would be an awesome opportunity. It would also open the chance for me to be a junior partner. That was something I had worked hard to achieve at a young age. It would show my father I had what it took to be away from his name, his company, his money, but I loved where I lived, my friends, and the routine of it all. Advancement on one hand. Security on the other. Ambition won. Eyes blurry from lack of sleep and from staring endlessly at the list, I looked up. The green neon light on the table-stand warbled the squared-off numbers saying that it was O’dark and pushing Light. The oblong table was covered with my lists and supporting evidence. I stood, stretched, and muttered a prayer of appreciation for the chairs at my office. Hotel chairs were just not made for extended usage. I’d need to get ready for work soon. With the time remaining, I decided to take a walk, watch the wonder of a sunrise in Canada, and try not to contemplate just how the day would go. That’s the problem with attorneys. We’re always trying to see every angle, foretell every argument. It’s enough to make a body tired, and I was tired enough without allowing my thoughts to run me around in never-ending circles. The task for the day was to negotiate a part-time schedule. If I held off taking the title of junior partner, then maybe they would be more lenient with the schedule I thought to propose. Maybe not. Maybe if I took the title junior partner, it would be all right that I still crossed over, split my time between Canada and the States. Maybe, if I negotiated the conversation well, I could get that in as part of my job description. I headed down the eleven stairs from the hotel lobby to the street and out into the morning freshness just knowing I could parlay the contract for a job offering in my favor. A win-win situation. That was what I needed. That is what I would make happen.

Luck of the Irish: Shades of Doubt

3

The crisp air tickled my skin. Yes, this was how I wanted to see the city. Perhaps, if I really liked it, I’d lease an apartment there as well. Be a jet-setter of sorts. With no particular destination save maybe a gourmet coffee shop I’d seen the day before, I headed north. The morning was cool and gorgeous. The air smelled fresh. The world seemed to be awakening. Not at the hurried pace with which I was accustomed, but a slow unfurling of the arms and a cat-like stretch of leisure. Pinks and oranges were just beginning to burst across the sky. It reminded me of Monet’s Sunrise. Simple. Beautiful. A work of art defying adequate representation through words. So, there I was, admiring the day, the country, the city, deep in thought over God’s miraculous creation, when I was attacked. Bombarded out of the blue! So stunned by the vile man, his roving hands, the cold steel of his gun against my skin, his foul breath, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even move. Looking back, I’m now certain I was in shock. He shoved me from the main street down a long, empty alley. But she saved me. From nowhere, she appeared. Mac. A little shorter than I, although I was in heels. Decked out in sweat pants and sweatshirt, ill-fitting and different shades of black. Her thick hair pulled away from a beautiful face. She had wise eyes and a wiser mouth. In seconds, she had the situation under control. The filthy bastard’s face pressed hard against the gutter in that side alley right where it belonged. Instead of mine, his grunts of surprise and displeasure echoed off the stone walls and asphalt. It was a beautiful moment. For me, an eye-opener. It was there, on that day, underneath that breathtaking sunrise, that Mac became a permanent fixture in my life. I owed her my life, see. And I always pay my debts. This debt wasn’t so bad. Not at the beginning. Then, it was right up my alley (in a manner of speaking). Mac had somehow uncovered -- I didn’t want to know how -- a colossal amount of dirt on her bosses, a particularly nasty batch of baddies who claimed to be a mafia of some sort. I had a deep-seated suspicion that The Outfit was far worse and sunk in much deeper to the Underworld than the simple tax evasion paperwork Mac had on them, but the information she had was definitely a good start to bring them down. Beyond that, I truthfully didn’t want to know more about The Outfit. Working with the CIA, Mac got them busted by the authorities. My job was to see them prosecuted to the extent the law would allow for their crimes against the federal government as they related to tax fraud, tax evasion, and possible money laundering. And that’s just what I did.

4

Kally Jo Surbeck

Chapter One March 17 Sentencing day I arrived at the courthouse early. The rains were soaking the city in a hazy gray fog of cold and ick. By arriving a bit before the call, I hoped to salvage a few precious moments to air dry in the lobby before setting foot into the cramped confines of the courtroom, pressed elbow to elbow with complete strangers in musk, wet wool, and stale cologne. I wore my favorite power suit, charcoal gray with tiny pink pinstripes. Daddy hated the suit, but Mother loved it. When she and I bought the ensemble on a trip to San Francisco, Mother’d said that it was exactly the impression a career-oriented woman wanted to present: sophisticated, simple, yet still alluringly woman. She’d known better than anyone. At thirty-seven-years-old, Yvette Deseu-Renyard had taken over as majority shareholder in her own investment firm. Although she’d lost her life at fifty-eight to a long battle with breast cancer, she’d influenced my life forever. My mother’s delicate taste and strong sense of self gave me confidence on pivotal days. And there was no more important day than March seventeenth, Saint Patrick’s Day, the day The Outfit went down. “We the jury --” Lips pressed together, I held my breath. My knuckles ached from having all of the fingers on my right hand crossed. I didn’t want to appear superstitious so I carefully concealed the right hand under the left. My foot tapped. My charcoal Weitzmans clipped a clear, crisp staccato on the tiled courtroom floor. The self-assured bailiff cocked his brow at the noise.

Luck of the Irish: Shades of Doubt

5

I hadn’t worked this prosecution myself, though in a way I felt it was my case. The feds handled it. However, they had asked for my participation and the partners at my firm were all about that exposure, so they’d turned me loose. They told me however involved I wanted to be, I could be. I enjoy trials, always have, but it’s not really where I shine. Research, that’s my bag. Cross-examination is fun. Discovery of twists, turns, and facts is what I love. The enormity of this case weighed heavily on my heart, and I was not willing to risk everything on any of my skills. Help, yes. Spearhead? No. No. This was too important. I owed a debt I would see fulfilled. But the best way to do that was to leave the case to those whose job it is to prosecute. Still, I did want to help. I felt I had to. So, I’d assisted with the research, compiling, and the collation of extensive data on all the known members of The Outfit so involved in the Four Corners operation of Detroit, Michigan. Over the course of the investigation and prosecution, my free time ran nonexistent. Not that I’d had a lot before. My life was filled with gatherings, meetings, charities, my friends were my family, but even those niceties were curtailed by my involvement. Every waking hour I wasn’t working on my assigned caseload at the firm, I poured my heart and soul into cementing this case. Actually, all four cases, but it was one and the same to me. The Outfit. An organized crime society in Michigan. They were going down. Each man, his face, his cologne, his accent, and preferred clothing designer, all of it burned into my mind and collated on the evidence tables. I could probably even offer up each man’s shorts size for evidence if I were called upon to do so. I had it all there, recorded on paper. So, research and more research, then collation. Then the trial began and I’d spent almost three weeks testifying. All of that ensured I had the pleasure of sitting in when the verdict came. The bailiff covered his mouth and coughed, looking directly at me. Nothing would have kept me from being there -- it was the day. Overweight, balding bailiff’s raised brow of reprimand and all. Mustering my strength, I offered him a dazzling smile. “-- guilty on all counts --”

Mon Dieu! We did it. “On the fourth count of --” I couldn’t believe it. My heart stuttered. It skipped. It lodged high in my chest wedged between my breastbone and my pride. I mean I was thrilled, and it was exactly what needed to happen, but -- sacre bleu! A shout of elation tickled my throat and had my toe tapping a twenty-four beat until court was dismissed. “Sentencing is scheduled for four p.m. --”

6

Kally Jo Surbeck

A ruckus began in the back of the courtroom as the press jockeyed to be first out the door, first in line, ready to snare their first quote from the victorious side. “-- that’s a Thursday. Court dismissed.” What? What day? Never mind, I’d get it from the desk. The viewers, attorneys, and witnesses spilled out into the main lobby with the rush and clamor of excitement, into the waiting media frenzy. “Congrats!” Slaps on the back. “Great job. We did it!” Bouncing between the congratulatory poundings and jovial shouts, I let myself be jostled to the back of the crush. There were so many people, and they all seemed to speak at once. The camera operators hustled to get ahead of the wave of onlookers, craving for the best shot. The reporters jabbed their microphones at everyone, catching snippets of conversation. It was overwhelming. I felt the noxious murmurs of claustrophobia clamor in my mind. Our attorneys nodded at me over bobbing heads and high-fives, but they quickly moved off down the hallway. I’m sure I could have joined them, maybe even should have, but I didn’t feel like it. I needed space, fresh air, a moment without people touching me, pushing me, moving me against my will. Then I had it. The crowd spilled out and down the steps of the courthouse, leaving me behind, and I suddenly felt very alone. I slipped on my overcoat, tied the sash. Even with the warmth of the jacket and leftover body heat, I suppressed a shudder as a chill rushed the length of my spine. Running a hand through my long hair, I looked around. There were many people left, different attorneys, their clients, other witnesses for other cases, but no one for me to share my joy with ... except, I bit my lip, maybe Mac. I could call her. She’d definitely want to know. I checked my Villemont. It was after six a.m. in her part of the world. She’d be up. She was always up. I’d swear that woman didn’t sleep. I’d die if I went as long as she did without sleep. I flicked my nail as I thought on my options. Of course, I’d have to call the service that paged her, and she’d have to call me back, but this was truly a momentous occasion and she wouldn’t mind the disturbance. Before I had a chance to pull the phone from my purse, it rang. “Hello? This is Charlize, how may I help you?” I tucked stray hairs behind my ear. “Hey there, Charlie.” Despite myself, I smiled. “Mac. Nice to hear from you. I was just thinking of giving you a jingle to let you know the verdict.” “Guilty.” Her husky voice said the one word with such a mixture of humor and sadness; I was confused as well as frustrated. The woman stole my fun! She never called from the same number, and all rang through as “restricted” on my caller id so I had no way of knowing

Luck of the Irish: Shades of Doubt

7

when it was her calling. I wished, not for the first time, for a means to give her her own ringer. “Word has it the official call was a guilty verdict on all counts, even, Charlie. Your team did a good job. Congratulations. You should be proud.” “How would you --? Do you?” I sputtered. Shook my head and looked around the quickly emptying lobby. The case in the next courtroom had been called so the few remaining minglers in the lobby seemed far away. They paid me no mind. Sequestered into a handful of small groups, they seemed contented with their own business. Their heads hung, dipped toward each other. They spoke in hushed tones. Still, one could never be too careful. “I could tell you, but ...” I allowed a steadying breath before saying anything else. Thanks to her, this is what my life had become -- jam-packed paranoia. “Never mind. I don’t want to know how you know.” I didn’t. By now, I knew not to even ask. The answers were always worse than the wondering. And that was if I got an answer. That was a very big if. Mac’s throaty laugher sounded across the airwaves. No one listening in would have been able to guess she was all the way down in Bora Bora, sitting on the beach, probably watching the brilliant Tahitian sunrise, but I could visualize it. Without even shutting my eyes, and more than a little envious, I pictured her hammocked up with Gabe, snuggled in close. “Really, Charlie. I’m disappointed in you. After all this time together, I thought you knew me better than that. Having invested so much, I can’t afford to not to be on top of every single detail.” True. The Outfit had almost cost Mac her future, her life, and those she so dearly loved. Had I truly thought she’d stay out of it? No, not really. Still, for all those electronic ears who might be listening ... “I just left the courtroom. Your contact told you quickly.” A deep, masculine voice rumbled in the background. Ahh. There he was. Gabe. Again, she laughed. “So, that’s how it is, Charlie?” “That’s how it should be.” A noisy couple passed by, laughing and joking. “That’s how you taught me it should be, anyway.” “All right. You’re right. You’re right.” She paused for effect. There was a muffled shuffle on the phone as though she had her hand over the mouthpiece. Though feigned, when she came back on line her version of exuberance could have been convincing, to some. “Hey, Charlie, can you believe it? The call came ... early this morning, telling me all about it. You did great. Congrats.”

8

Kally Jo Surbeck

To some, that is, but not to me. I shook my head. The woman was insufferable, pushing the limits -- always. Work with me, Mac. Please. At least while I’m still in the courthouse! “We did it, Mac. We got them.” She instantly sobered, mumbled something to Gabe, then came back to me clearing her throat. “Not exactly.” All of the warm, happy feeling bouncing around in my brain dropped straight out of my body. It puddled in a pool on the floor along with the sloughed off rainwater. “Yes. We did.” “Uhh, unh-uh.” The pattern on the floor began to jump up at me. The tiny black squares pulsed with the same agitation I felt beginning to gnaw at my stomach. “Guilty on all counts. All remaining members of The Outfit have been indicted. They’ll be incarcerated for a very long time, I might add.” “‘All remaining members’ is a rather broad statement.” Her voice sounded thin, and it took a lot to truly make Mac angry, but whatever this was, it had made her angry. Where moments before my heart had hammered in my chest with excitement for a job well done, it now thudded with dread. Same crazy cadence, far different emotion. I hated it when Mac took that tone. That nothing-is-that-easy tone. That someone-has-pissed-me-off tone. That tone that said a curve ball had been thrown. Yes, I knew that tone. “What?” “Did you listen to all of the verdicts? Did you happen to hear there was a plea offered to Sorrenson? Henderson already brokered a deal. Lippencot apparently was in negotiation. I don’t know yet about Treadway, but they’ll all cop.” “Wh-hat?” No. I’d been so stoked to hear the guilty my mind had shut down after that. What had I missed? “Charlie, there are some complications you need to be made aware of.” I knew that vagueness. When Mac became vague, it meant only bad things. I rubbed my eyes. They burned. I checked the back of my hand for mascara. No smudges. Good. That was all I needed, humidified hair and raccoon eyes. “I take it from your silence, Charlie, you can appreciate the gravity of that statement.” Boy, did I ever. “I also take it you understand that their copping out can raise ... further problems.” “No. It doesn’t. I did my job.” Why hadn’t I listened? I knew appeals could go on forever, but I’d assumed if one were copping a plea, it would have been done before the very public trial, not after. “Yes, you did. And you did it wonderfully, but it’s not over.” “My part is.” “Not exactly.”

Luck of the Irish: Shades of Doubt

9

Slowly, I slumped back against a tall support pillar. The solid structure gave me reassurance. I closed my eyes. The floor pattern continued to pulse behind my lids. “Charlie? Are you still there?” I don’t know how I worked the pleasantness into my voice. “Still here.” “You understand the significance of what I’m saying?” I remained silent. Mac sounded sad. “That makes things easier. This stage of the prosecution, what you all took them to court for, was for the tax evasion and fraud. As much as it should be bigger crimes, it isn’t. The Outfit has money and connections. Neither should be taken lightly. They’ll get time served or a slap on the wrist with restriction.” “What? You mean you haven’t heard?” The sarcasm in my tone was biting, and I felt petty and childlike. I heard what she was saying, and I knew she was right, but I could not accept that. “They’ll all do time, Mac. Solid time.” “Look, we can’t go into this right now, but I’ve sent a friendly face to tell you about it. You know why I can’t do it in person. He’ll explain everything.” That didn’t sound like the Mac I knew. “Everything?” “As much as you need to know, anyway.” There she was. A brief silence filled the line. When she spoke again her voice dropped a notch. “Really, Charlie, I wish this call were only for pleasantries. You did a great job on your end, all you could do. Don’t think I don’t know it. I do, and I’ll appreciate that, always.” Damn her! She sounded so sincere. “Not good enough,” I sighed. Tears stung the backs of my eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch.” She hung up before I could ask about her contact. “No!”

You can’t do this to me, my mind howled. I stared at my phone. The LCD automatically powered down after five seconds. The muted picture of a tropical sunset replaced the timer. No more Mac. No more happy feeling. No more job well done. The resounding pulse resonating in the deep muscles of my shoulders from the pats on the back thudded. Great. Just great. A beautiful day crushed to pulp in less than five minutes. Long distance, no less. That took skill. I snapped the phone shut. “Thanks, Mac.” “She says to tell you ‘You’re welcome.’” That voice. I knew that voice. Deeper than I remembered, but it possessed that same strum of confidence and seduction. I looked up, my head nearly clipping his chin. “Bobby!” Then stopped. It was not a boy who stood in front of me, but a young man. “Bobby?”

10

Kally Jo Surbeck

“Yeah.” He stepped right into my hug, like a long-lost friend. Which I suppose he was, in a manner of speaking. His arms -- much enlarged from the time of our last meeting -encircled me. They pulled me tight to his chest. A hard chest. A defined chest. Rock hard with ridges. He smelled of some exotic blend that might have held the hint of flowers, but was too spicy to keep the floral impression long. After he kissed me on the cheek, he smiled. There it was, the kid’s lopsided grin. “Not quite what you remember, huh?” “No.” That was a huge understatement. “It’s not Robert or Bob or something now, is it?” A huge smile, one that lit the room, graced his handsome face. “Nope. I’ll always be ‘Bobby.’ It suits me.” My gaze slid from the top of his sun-bleached head to his toes. The caramel and tan of his trousers and overcoat, with the contrast of the crisp, starched white of his open-necked Christian Dior shirt set off his surfer looks perfectly. “Mon Dieu, you’re a man now!” “I was a man before,” came his indignant reply. Though it was tempered with a laugh. No. No. I definitely remembered a boy. “Let me look at you.” Humoring me, he did a three-sixty and posed. G-Q. “What’d you expect? It’s been a long time.” Four years. A long time, indeed. Years of work that, apparently, was not enough. Four wasted years. Still trying to reconcile what I remembered with what he’d become, I ciphered the math. “That makes you twenty-one now.” “Yes, ma’am. Pushing the double twos.” His age and the ma’am thing shook me out of my stupor. Nothing like seeing the transformation before me to make me feel old. He’d grown up. I’d aged. “You look good.” Great even. “Island life is good to you, it seems.” “For the most part.” “Ahh.” I dropped the phone into my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “There’s that vagueness I’ve come to dread. You’ve spent too much time with Mac.” He shrugged. “Love the water, the waves, and the babes, but I’ve got a new gig now.” “Me.” He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” “I don’t like the sound of that so much.” He shifted uncomfortably from one loafer-clad foot to the other. They were nice shoes -- a deep caramel that matched his trench. Sebagos, if I wasn’t mistaken, and when it came to quality shoes, I rarely was. At least he hadn’t taken after Mac in fashion sense. Little blessings.

Luck of the Irish: Shades of Doubt

11

“Yeah. Mac said you’d probably say that, too. Wanna go grab a cup of coffee, and I can explain things?” I shook my head. “Somehow, I don’t think an espresso is exactly what this situation calls for.” Double bourbon. That was what it called for. “You’re probably right,” he conceded. “No use getting you more excited than need be, but I’ve been on a plane all night long, and I need caffeine. In a bad way. Stale pretzels and a half a soda don’t cut it.” He offered me a sheepish smile as he twisted his long torso from side to side. “It’s going to be another long day. Besides, my sweet, beautiful attorney, I have my orders on how this works. A crowded diner or something.” Ahh, yes. The buzz of conversation to cover our own. A general meeting place. A location to blend and mingle. I could almost hear Mac chastising me for slipping. How many times had she and I spoken down by the tracks with the rattle and clank to cover our words? I should’ve known that she would have ingrained her safety mechanisms in the kid, er, the man. I shook my head. That might take a little getting accustomed to. “There’s a good place across the street.” Like a true gentleman, he offered me his bent elbow. “Shall we?” I slipped my hand through his arm. The slick material of his overcoat rested easy under my palm. Its smooth, unwrinkled texture temporarily placated my growing frustration. The need for information warred with patience. Why all the need for secrecy? We’d just managed the impossible. The men were indicted on all counts. As we departed the courthouse Bobby tilted his head a little to the side, whispering in a way that lovers might. I watched the admiring glances from young women as we passed. I was suddenly invisible, but he definitely wasn’t. The reversal of my life sat a little uneasy on my conscience. At least the rain had stopped. “Natasha, please stop wrinkling your forehead. It doesn’t suit you.” I cocked a brow at him. I hated that name. “It’s Charlie, punk, and I need answers. That is why my brow is creased. I have things on my mind. Mac sounded worried and that worries me.” He laughed. “Natasha’s better.” Taking a deep breath, I let him lead. We crossed the busy intersection. I couldn’t believe he still insisted on the corny code name he’d created when we first met. What was wrong with Charlie? “Too bad, because Charlie’s the name.” He frowned. “You’re no fun.”

12

Kally Jo Surbeck

“I’m not in this for the excitement. I’m not in this for the game, like you and Mac. I owed Mac. I paid Mac. And though, apparently, the trials are not completely finished, once they are, I’m no longer a part of this.” “It’s not like turning a television on and off. It’s not that simple.” I allowed him to hold the door to the restaurant open for me. “Yes. It is.” The restaurant was hopping with the lunch crowd significantly increased by the early dismissal of court. All types of businesspersons filled the tables and booths. They lined the counter as well. The waitress, short, cute, and with huge blue eyes batting up at Bobby, sat us near the kitchen. It was noisy, busy, and perfect. Bobby took the north seat, the one facing the entrance. As he sank onto the creaky turquoise plastic seat with the easy grace of the confident, he informed our server, “I’ll take the Grand. Maple syrup. A large Coke, and a water with lemon.” He cocked his head to the side. Tapping the Formica tabletop he asked, “Natasha?” If it wouldn’t have been so obvious, I’d have used the blessed pointy-toe of my shoe to tag him. Hard. In the shin. Deep down I’ve always harbored the belief that my Weitzmans could draw blood. Instead, I swallowed my pride and swore I would get my revenge later. “The Reuben. Light on the dressing. With fries, not touching. Ranch, on the side, and a water, please. With lemon and a straw.” The cute little waitress scribbled on her notepad, nodded, gave Bobby a wink, and took off with a bounce in her step I knew I couldn’t possess working tables. I extracted several napkins from the dispenser and wiped the table down. There wasn’t anything there, but before I would open my silverware, I wanted to be certain. “So, Bobby, what’s so important that Mac had to send you? She said that several of the members were going to cop a plea. That’s not really my area, but I’m sure the attorneys will keep me posted on how the process plays out.” Bobby shook his head. “You know Mac wouldn’t use you for information. She has better connected sources. Not that you aren’t well connected, but that’s not it. Your deal was you would bring The Outfit down. Am I right?” I suddenly felt extremely wary. This conversation gave me the uneasy sensation of balancing on very thin ice. With each breath I could hear it cracking and giving away. Without notice I could be submerged, in over my head, with no escape. “No. I told Mac I would see the members prosecuted to the full extent of the law.” “How’s that different?” Semantics. I tried a different approach. “Why does Mac think that this isn’t settled now?” Just then my purse vibrated. I held a finger in the air. I flipped open my phone to find a text message from one of the partners.

Cases settled. PO. TS. They’re gone. We’re Done. No!

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“What’s that?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The Outfit had done it. They plead out. Time served. And they were gone. It was like a bad nightmare. “Just work.” I slapped the phone shut. Bobby scratched his chin. “About this?” “Tell me what you know. Now.” “What do you want to know first?” “You say my involvement is not finished. You know the ...” I hesitated. “The men got off. Are the situations related?” He nodded. “In a manner of speaking, yes.” That so did not bode well. My heart skipped a beat. This was wrong. So wrong. I scratched my earlobe. Then I suddenly felt better. This wasn’t my problem. It didn’t affect me. “Maybe it really doesn’t matter, overall. My part in this is done. I helped them. I testified. I’m done.” Bobby’s Adam’s apple dipped low in his throat. The bright white of his shirt set off the smooth, even tan on his skin. “I guess Mac didn’t teach you as much as she thought she did.” I cocked a brow. “Once you’re involved, you’re always involved.” “No.” The resistance was out of my mouth before he finished speaking. “Yes. It’s a sad and ugly fact, but a fact just the same.” He leaned back in his chair, one arm hooked around the metal back. “Danni. Who’s she to you?” The crowded luncheonette faded, my questions all disappeared. The snide comment about what he could do with his “fact” died on my tongue. Mindless chatter in the room swirled into a hum of nothing. Bobby’s face wavered, and the image of my dearest friend coalesced. Tall. Taller than I. She stood five foot nine inches without heels. Where our hair was the same length, hers had the natural spirals all women admire. My straight blonde paled next to her vibrant auburn. Danelle Nolan, sapphire-eyed investigative reporter, sorority sister, and the only person I’d truly considered family after my mother died. My daddy was still around, but he’d grown distant, consumed by his business and his new bride, who was two years my junior. They traveled a lot. They were even talking of starting a new family. One without me. That was just fine. Danni was my sister. She had no family here. When she’d left Ireland as a teen, she’d forfeited all of her connections. I counted on her and she on me. My mouth grew suddenly dry, and I desperately wanted my water. As if on cue, the waitress arrived at our table to deliver our drinks. Bobby winked at her and offered his courteous thanks. His large brown eyes, the color of buffed amber,

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fringed with dark lashes, held the woman captivated for a moment. Oh, the kid had it. The world was in jeopardy with him loose. The action was enough to jerk me from my sadness and back to the present. He took a long pull on his Coke. “So, who is she?” “She’s my friend and she has no bearing on this conversation. This is between me and Mac. It doesn’t even involve you, though I can appreciate why you think it would.” My voice sounded calm. Modulated. How was control possible when my insides shook like an eightpoint-0? Mac and Bobby had no business asking about Danni. She was special. Even her name was sacred. His gaze slid past me, over the inhabitants of the room. The scan took almost a full minute. His sharp gaze missed nothing. It made me want to look around the room as well, to see what he saw. But then again I wouldn’t. He’d been trained by the best. After he finished his sweep, he took another drink, nearly finishing the Coke in two additional swallows. “She was in contact with Mac. Did you know that?” No. No, I hadn’t. “So, Charlie, you see, this conversation is all about her.” “Why? Why would Danni have talked to Mac?” “After the bust ...” He scraped his hand over his face. Only his eyes looked tired. They gave the impression of an old soul, a soul that had witnessed too much. “I don’t even know how far back to go.” He sighed, apparently waiting for me to say something, give him direction, but I had no voice. He’d just have to wing this on his own. “Okay. How about this? The feds were tied up with the bust, so Mac had some ... free time before she moved.” Mac should never have free time. It was dangerous. “She knew how to get into The Outfit’s offices, so she thought she should make certain there was a thorough investigation, if you know what I mean.” Still silent. I sat and waited. The legal consequences of any response was too risky. Even my listening to this bordered on bad choice. Why would Mac break the trust she had with the feds just to get data? I didn’t buy it. “There were things she knew to look for. Things she’d seen or heard about over the years. Since she was an assistant there, at one time, she knew her way around the place and places to look. Places that might be overlooked by the feds.” Nothing. He shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, so, in the conference room, under the meeting table there was a lockbox.” I’d been in that room. And there was no such thing. Had Mac purposely fed Bobby the wrong information so he would never be held responsible for her behavior? It was a thought. “Not too big. Not too heavy.”

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Convenient. “Mac Bogarted it before the feds got there to do their search.” No. She told him this sad story so if he ever cracked, not that she believed he would, but if he did, no one would believe him. But why? To protect him or to sway me? “Inside she found some paperwork on Treadway, the whole Outfit really. And when I say whole, I mean whole.” She had cleaned out that safe in Johansen’s office when she went in to get her daddy’s contract. Was there more than one safe? I licked my lips and found my voice. “What kind of paperwork, did she say?” “The kind that said the boys here in town have more than a few contacts. Their grasp is far-reaching.” “Oh, dear.” That had to be from a different safe. There is no way Johansen would have had or kept that information. I bet she got it from Treadway or maybe Lippencot. That bastard had blackmail on everyone. “Yeah. The kind of paperwork that said no matter what you or the courts did, The Outfit would not go down. Sure, they might serve a little time, but guys like Sorrenson --?” “What about Sorrenson?” I choked. Bobby looked down. I give him credit. He knew this was hard for me, so I can only imagine how hard it was for him to deliver the news. “Word came down on this already.” How the hell was that possible? “Word that is common knowledge? Word that has been publicly announced?” “No. Not that kind of word, but reliable word on the street.” I understood. “His sentence is mostly time served. Being a legal freak apparently has its bennies.” I wondered if I should tell him about the text message. “He knew the right out, and he used it. He’ll be free and clear before the end of the day.” I was having trouble thinking straight, trouble swallowing past the rising bile in my throat. What in God’s name had I spent four years doing? “From what I hear,” Bobby continued, “there was a roster of sorts in the paperwork Mac found, some contact names in case of trouble. Branches of the organization, where it melds with other organizations. Names to go to if there were a dissolution here in Detroit or if they needed to increase the work force. There were a couple pictures and some other stuff that I’m not sure about.” “Why aren’t you sure?” Realization dawned just as quickly. “She didn’t let you see what was inside. Did she? Mac didn’t let you see the file!”

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He shifted again, his gaze on the man behind me. “No. Said it was too dangerous.” “Too dangerous? She’ll send you out in the middle of ... of,” what the hell was this? I shook my head. It was almost humorous, if it didn’t involve people’s lives. “What’s more dangerous than not enough information?” Dear, earnest Bobby stared me down. “Too much.” “C’est rien que de la merde.” He couldn’t believe that. I had too much respect for him and his intelligence to believe he believed that. If I’d had a bit more information, I could have done more to ensure these men were booked long and hard ... maybe. How many of the feds were involved? Just the thought made my stomach roil. Our food came, but the idea of ingesting sauerkraut on the waves in my stomach appalled me. I pushed the plate away. Water didn’t even appeal. Maybe I should have ordered club soda. I smoothed the ridges of my napkin as I carefully manipulated it into a trifold that slid under the side of my plate. “So, this all boils down to one simple fact.” “One?” “Mac was wrong.” Bobby looked as though I’d said the flag was purple. His square jaw grew slack, then snapped shut, then opened again. “No.” Blood pumped in my ears. Four years! Four stinking years, and for what? “Yes. She was, young acolyte.” I raised my hands in the air. “She told me this was it. We’d got them all and that we were taking The Outfit down.” He glanced around at other patrons. Offered a few of them a weak smile and a shrug. “Lower your voice, Charlie. You know the rules. You never knew who all’s involved.” “Son, you are on a thin, thin line.” If I slipped in over my head, I swore I’d take the handsome youth with me, and I felt dangerously close to that edge. “You know Mac better than that, Charlie. She wouldn’t have said that. She never talks in absolutes unless she’s absolutely sure. Besides, this is a United States legal system failure, not yours, not mine, and certainly not Mac’s.” The small muscle beneath my eye jumped. The visible sign of my weakness further frustrated me. What was it with this woman that she inspired followers? Give her cyanide Kool-Aid and ... I could hear Mac’s voice in my head. That confident, cock-sure voice of hers telling me exactly what I needed to do, what she would do, what Gabe would do, what the feds would do, hell, what Bobby would do and how the end result would be one everyone liked. Memories of conversations rolled through my mind, jumbling all together into a confused ball of nothing. My jaw clenched. “She told me this would bring The Outfit down.” “Their manifestation as the Four Corners business association. And it did, sort of. You saw the results this morning. It’s interrupted their business. They’ve had to scatter.” He reached out and patted my hand. His was warm, comforting. Mine was cold. “But no

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organization like that can remain broken with taking out only the leaders. And at that, taking them out of operation for only a short period of time. These men have wielded power for so long, their teams, the people in the organization will do whatever it takes to restabilize the institution of Four Corners and The Outfit as we know it and hate it.” Did he know what he was saying? “So we have to worry about it re-raising its ugly little head here. That’s what this is about?” “We don’t have to worry about that if we take out the institution and their connections. From the top.” How could one ever take out the top? Even with Mac’s contacts, and even with her followers, with all of that, how could something so big actually be tackled and brought low? It was too big. “Say I swallow this story, this half-assed explanation.” He nodded. “How do you know what they were looking into is really the top? At one point, we thought these men were the top.” He scratched his chin. “In a way, they are.” “A way?” “Yeah. Look, I know this seems huge.” I nodded. “Insurmountable, but it’s not. If we work together, we can do anything!” “Did you not hear the news you brought me?” I scoffed. “You told me we failed!” The partners told me we failed. “Mac tried the legal route. She tried the system. The system failed. Today proved that. The last four years have proved that. And ...” His voice trailed off, as did his eye contact. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know what to say. I had the distinct impression what he just said alluded to something illegal, though I wasn’t sure what or how it would work into the future. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling of someone watching me. “And?” “And they’ve made it personal from the start. You need to understand the difference. You did a good job, Charlie. Don’t negate that.” I pulled my hands into my lap. I was tired of hearing about what a good job I did. It wasn’t a good job. It accomplished little to nothing! “This is where Danni comes into the picture?” “Sort of.” “Mac contacted her because of me? She thought there was one more thing left to exploit?” I felt as though I’d betrayed Danni by being associated with Mac. “No.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t like that at all. Danni contacted Mac.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “No one contacts Mac unless Mac wishes it so.”

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He held his bottom lip between his teeth, then let out a long sigh. His shoulders slumped a bit. “Danni did it because of you, all right?” That stopped me. Gesturing with his hand, he said, “Come back on a little time trip with me. ’Kay? When you started researching the case, you asked her to help you. Am I wrong?” I had. “Go on.” “She caught wind of something deeper, for lack of a better word, than what you, your bosses, even the feds were looking for, cared to look for. Don’t deny it.” Had I been going to? Yes. I would have said something. “You didn’t want to know or understand them.” “Hell no I didn’t. They are sick!” “Yes, they are. And Danni saw that. She’s like Mac. Once she gets her teeth into something, she doesn’t let loose. She digs and digs until she can out it, understand it, or cure it. Sometimes all three.” He whistled in wonder. “She’s impressive. That woman, and boy, does she have a nose for news. Her articles are great.” “You’ve read them?” He shrugged. “Most. Gotta know the people you work with.” I was willing to lay money he hadn’t looked that far into my case history, but I let it pass. It might disturb me too greatly to know the truth. “Look, Charlie. Don’t hold her nature against her. She was doing what God created her to do. Some people just know their talents and their destiny. She’s one of those people. She’s your friend. You know that about her. There are so many paths of deceit and uncertainties; trust what you know.” I nodded. I wouldn’t hold it against her, but I might hold it against Mac. “Besides, you already had Danni involved past her eyebrows.” The sting of tears returned. It was true. Everything he’d said. Those very qualities, the ones I loved and despised at the same time. Bobby seemed to know her as well as I. Nodding mutely, I listened. “She wanted an interview. She wanted details. She wanted to know The Outfit. Not many know The Outfit like Mac. Mac spoke with her with the explicit understanding that any information would remain ... confidential. Her identity could not be associated with any of it.” His brow pulled together. “Mac didn’t sell you out, Charlie. Danni was doing her job and a damn fine one at that.” “I didn’t say Mac did!” “You don’t have to. It’s there, in your eyes.” I refused to turn away from his scrutiny though I focused on the swinging kitchen doors and not the fidelity of his expression.

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“Mac didn’t do anything wrong either. Know that, okay? It was your friend who wanted to talk to her. She’s the one who wanted the story.” “Mac didn’t want anything, right?” I mocked. “That’s just her style.” “Mac wanted The Outfit broken. It’s never been a secret that’s her goal. It always has been. Always will be. She and Danni had a mutually beneficial relationship.” His chin jutted further out with every word. A slight flush crept up his tanned neck, leeching into his cheeks, staining them rose. He finished his second Coke. His color evened out. His hands shook. Though he’d grown, though his voice had deepened, Bobby was still a kid. A young man who idolized Mackenzie Harmon-Zumbrenen. After a long moment, he lifted his gaze to mine. “You know, Charlie, I love Mac like you love Danni.” Ahh. A perceptive man at that. I nodded. He hadn’t asked it as a question, but something made me acknowledge it as such. “She’s family.” “That’s what she told Mac. Said that if anything bad happened, to tell you. No one else.” “Bad?” The single syllable sounded choked. After that came the garbled laugh and the pain. Now this was real. This I felt. I ran my hand through my hair. “Of course, it’s bad. It has to do with Mac, and you, and Gabe! What else could it be?” A little abashed, he said, “I kinda thought you knew about her talking to Mac.” I should’ve. “They did a really good job working together, and you know how Mac’s not into working with anyone.” Did I ever. “Well, they were a team. A good one. Where one’s thoughts dropped, the other picked up. It was cool to watch. Freaky, but cool. You’d have thought they were life-long friends.”

Danni’s like that, I thought. A gust of wind blew through the restaurant, and the mixture of food smells assaulted my senses. My stomach recoiled. “They plowed through mountains of paper. They searched the ’net. Files compiled, evidence stacked, and witnesses presented themselves. Or so I was told. Both Danni and Mac spoke with contacts, and they discovered how this nasty little situation reaches further than we thought.” My expression must have said it all because he nodded and brushed the hair back out of his face. “Yeah. Not good.” Slowly, I pieced the puzzle together. “So, Danni was going to write an exposé on The Outfit?” There wasn’t a better investigative reporter I knew. It made sense. Actually, it made damn good sense, and I should have known she’d hone in on the case. On this, Bobby was right. Danni’s articles were insightful and emotional. Fun and informative, her style garnered a large reader base. Courageous and uninhibited, she wasn’t afraid to delve where she shouldn’t or write what she was told not to. Danni believed in the

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freedom of speech almost as much as she believed Viggo Mortensen should be her husband -a close tie. Bobby, again, nodded. “She thought it would be a great piece for when the sentencing was handed down. She even thought the AP would pick it up.” It would have been fantastic. Too bad it didn’t work that way. “That’s where she went on this last business trip, down to see you all?” “No. Not this time. She was down about a month ago, I guess. This time, she went to Ireland.” I shook my head in disbelief. That wasn’t possible. Danni long ago swore she’d never set foot back on Irish soil. Things had to be out of control for her to volunteer to participate in the madness. “Yeah. She flew to Belfast two weeks ago.” “Belfast?” This time I did choke. Now I knew I was dreaming. Somehow the croissant I had for breakfast had mold spores hidden inside it or something, and I was in the middle of a bad trip. I continued shaking my head, hoping the action would somehow make a difference. I had no idea how, but I hoped. “What? She’s Irish.” I blinked, long and hard, stunned. “She’s ... she’s. My mother was French. You don’t see me running off to join the Foreign Legion, do you? Why would she do that? Why would she go there?” He finished his pancake in one huge bite. He’d polished off a short-stack, three sausage links, two halves of toast, two Cokes, and most of his water, and we’d been there under a half-hour. Amazing. “That’s where The Outfit’s trace led. Sorrenson and Henderson have their hands mired in a few businesses over there. I’m sure the others have connections too, but as far as I know, that wasn’t the focus of what Mac and Danni were into, at least not while I was around.” I blinked. “So?” “So. I guess she went where the story was.” He reached for my plate. “You gonna eat those fries?” I pushed the plate closer to him. “For the love of all that’s holy, hasn’t she heard of the internet? Research the damn story that way!” He popped a fry in his mouth. “Mac knows some people.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I just bet she does, but if she knows them, she knows how to contact them, and Danni didn’t need to fly over there and meet with them face to face.” Suddenly, there was no more of the boy I’d met. Someone completely grown up stared back at me with soulful brown eyes that had seen far too much in their limited life. “Yes. She did.”

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Maudit. The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach didn’t have much farther to go before it began to drag bottom. “It’s that kind of information, then?” He nodded. “You know how this works, Charlie. You know firsthand about all the double-dealing going on. This isn’t something that could be done from a distance.” The information had to be huge for her to make that sacrifice. After the fallout with her family, Danni had sworn no matter what she’d never go back to the isle that stripped her of friends and family. There were too many bad memories there. Too much pain Danni wanted to forget. “Sorrenson, Lippencot, Henderson, Treadway, and Johansen as the business entity of Four Corners was only a small part of their U.S. involvement, and their U.S involvement is only a small part of the problem. They’ve got their dirty little fingers in everyone’s pie.” He wiped his hands on his napkin before speaking, rapidly, accentuating his thoughts with erratic hand movement. “These bad boys roll wherever there is a loophole in the system. That way they know where they can work it, they can get the contracts. It’s almost brilliant really!” “Did you just call them brilliant?” “They are, in a manner of speaking.” He shrugged. “I can appreciate great minds.” “Like Mac’s?” “Yes, like Mac’s,” came his defensive reply. “Why didn’t she go take care of this?” Anger punctuated each word. Why should Mac be safe and Danni be in danger? “You know she’s not leaving her current location.” “Not even for this?” He shook his head, and then laughed. “How do you think I finally got to do something? I swear that woman is more protective than a mother hen, and I know you wouldn’t know anything about that so in your case, the manager at LaLonde’s. Mac’s not leaving the one place she has total asylum. Don’t worry though. She can coordinate from where she is. She’s tapped in, just like always.” “Involved but not looking involved?” Classic Mac M.O. “Right you are.” He gave me the thumbs up. “Besides, this is Danni’s baby. Her story.” Danni traveling to Ireland was not only unsafe; it was pure foolishness. Mac had to know about Danni and her family connections. Of course, Mac knew. There wasn’t anything that woman didn’t know. I wouldn’t forget this. My fingernails bit into my palms. The pain helped me focus. “You said if something bad happened. What happened, Bobby?” My voice cracked, and I couldn’t look at him. The

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frustration and anger coursing through my veins might kill him, and I needed information first. He could die later. Bobby toyed with his maple-syrup-stained napkin for a moment. I watched his hands. The sun-kissed skin. The short cropped nails. The freckle on his middle finger. “Like I said, she flew out two weeks ago. Her route was a little convoluted, but that’s where she ended up. She had stops to make. People to see. She went to London, then to Glasgow, and finally to BCA.” “You’re sure she got there safely?” “I know she called Mac and checked in as soon as she landed and made it through Customs. She had a room booked at Europa. Mac verified that Danni arrived and took possession of the room, but that’s mostly where the trail ends. See, Danni checked in, dropped off her luggage, from what Mac said she changed her clothes. We know that for sure.” That caught my attention. “Why would you know that for certain?” He expelled a long sigh, his gaze darting around the room. “Mac thought to track her; her purse and her luggage are still at the hotel. Who changes clothes before going out again? She’d just gotten there. She hadn’t had time to get dirty.” Give Mac points for trying. None went to the young man. That was a long flight. Any woman would want to freshen up. “Did Danni know that she was being tracked? That she had one?” “I don’t know. And there were two. Not one. One was in her purse, and one was on her person.” “How do you know that?” He shrugged. “What I do know and can tell you is she had a contact she was supposed to meet that afternoon, but we haven’t heard anything since she left to meet him.” “Two weeks.” I could kill him with my bare hands. Right there. Right in front of the courthouse I so dearly loved. If Mac were there, I could do her, too. For a horrifying instant, I knew I could. I had it in me. “Calm down.” Bobby tried to hush me. I’d do whatever it took to get the one person who had always stood beside me, always protected me. I’d do whatever I had to do to get her back, safe. “She’s been out of contact this long, and you’re just now telling me?” “Shhh.” I didn’t know what was worse, the manipulation, the deceit, or my startlingly clear resolution that I could hurt someone, physically hurt them. “Two frickin’ weeks!” “Shhh.”

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I jumped up, slamming my chair into the table behind us. My water spilled. Several businessmen looked up at me. I ignored their not so subtle disapproval of the outburst. Naughty words clogged my throat. Deliberate in each action, I pressed my hands flat on the table and leaned down close to Bobby’s shocked face. In a menacing whisper, I used the coldness I was so renowned for in the corporate world. “I strongly suggest, if you wish to avoid a scene of biblical proportion, you get your tight ass out of that chair right now.” His eyes widened. “We’re going to my house.” Slowly, he stood. “We are?” “You wanted me in this. Fine. I’m in it. You’re right. They all made this personal. So, in keeping with that vein, I will not rest until Danni’s back, until Mac answers for her involvement in this, and until the people who took Danni pay.” “That’s the spirit!” “I suggest you keep your pretty mouth shut until we get to my home.” I bit the words out. I needed time to think, to straighten my emotions out. My brain was overloading with all the stimuli. “I’ll pack. You’ll explain, and I do mean in detail, or so help me God, even your sainted Mackenzie won’t be able to help you.”

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Chapter Two With a jerk of his head, Bobby indicated my suitcases. “What’s that?” Since arriving at my condo, he’d kept a considerable distance from me, from my things. He’d not touched anything. He’d kept quiet, mostly observed, and at all times remained respectful of my space and my anger. I appreciated that. “What?” “The Swiss cake roll thing.” My gaze followed his, and I laughed. Now that we were here and I knew Bobby couldn’t bolt, I felt a little better. Emphasis on the word “little.” Here, I felt remotely safe. This environment I knew. The order afforded me comfort and a measure of normalcy. Apparently, Bobby had relaxed too. At least enough to open up a bit. “That’s my make-up bag.” “That? Really?” He pointed. He let out a slow whistle. “Damn ...” “Yeah.” It had four huge waterproof pockets, a sleek black design, a hidden compartment for a spare set of keys, and it went everywhere I did. “It’s my baby.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the door jam, still careful not to touch anything else in the room. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a beast.” “I don’t bet you have. Mac’s not really a make-up sort of lady.” He raised his brow but said nothing. For a moment, I felt a small twinge of compassion. I didn’t envy him. Mac had sent him here to talk to me, to try and explain away her mistake. It wasn’t really his fault, and I shouldn’t blame him for her errors. Maybe if I were nicer to him, if I eased up a little, he’d tell me what I needed to know, and I needed him to share everything.

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Manipulation felt a bit foolish, but it seemed the most accessible means I had to knowledge. I’d tell him a little bit about me, maybe get him to share a little bit about his life, open up a little. It could be good. I’d always liked Bobby. He was a good guy all around although he was a little warped in his thinking. Like his policy on information. I believed the more, the better. “Together, that tote and I have seen two ugly break-ups, my mother’s death, and my father’s choosing to date Barbie-Gone-Wild.” He cringed. “That had to hurt.” “Yeah. His descent into Creepy Old Man began with the highly uncomfortable funeral and then worsened when he married the bimbo.” “Your mom’s funeral?” “Yeah.” “Sorry.” “Don’t be. He’s a people pleaser, my father. Always has been. Always will be. I learned to deal with it a long time ago.” I reached out. For a moment, I marveled at how similar my hand looked to my mother’s. I had the same long fingers, the same rounded off Frenchtipped nails. Seeing the similarity fortified me, warming my insides. I grabbed the make-up bag. “He’s never been a good parental figure; least he can do is please his new woman. He sure as hell didn’t do it for my mother.” Bobby wisely remained silent, his expression carefully neutral. Whether that response was triggered from the home life he never talked of or his respect for my dead mother, or just wisdom of having lived with a volatile woman, I didn’t know, but it reflected well. Every moment I spent with Bobby, I liked him more. I raised the small bag, twirled it in a circle. I admired its sleek design, then slipped it back into the suitcase. “Anyway, this is my friend. It’s been there through it all, and it’s still in great shape. It slides perfectly into this niche here at the top of the suitcase. It fits in right above the small overnight clutch with my dainties.” I pointed to that. I swear he choked, but he recovered with a gracious blush and a cough. “What I mean is, it carries lots of things.” “Yeah, like a small sacrificial cow,” he teased. Rolling my eyes, I dug into my wardrobe for my favorite Alpaca cardigan and sheared vicuña poncho. They could be layered. Layered is always good for travel. I worried the tip of my nail. Ireland? March. I grabbed a light pink, silk, mandarin-collar blouse. And another, this one off-white. Would I only be in the city? Inside? Outside? I’d traveled all over the world. I’d even been to Dublin twice, but that was a long time ago, never to Belfast. Bobby scratched his head, mussing his hair. The action made him even more handsome. Oh, to be twenty-one again and meet him on the street. Some woman would one day have her hands very full, and many in the interim would wish. Mac so deserved everything he was going to put her through. It made me smile. “Glad to see you’re in a better mood,” Bobby noted. “I was kinda worried.”

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“Somewhat.” The idea of Mac getting her just desserts was enough to make anyone smile. Not that he needed to know that, but it did put me in a better state of mind. Packing soothed my nerves as well. The linear movements, the order of folding. “I love to travel.” His mouth gaped a bit. “Yeah, your passport’s almost full. You’ve got some cool stamps in there.” I opened the double doors to my closet, not wanting to think about how he knew what all was in my passport. It should be in my purse. My purse was on the counter. When had he been near my purse? The question didn’t bear much consideration. Bobby was the master at securing information. I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Have you thought of traveling?” He shook his head as he walked over and sank onto my duvet. “I’ve got more important things on my mind. Hey, can I ask you a question without your taking it wrong?” Maybe, but no promises. “Shoot.” “How many bags do you put into that one case? I mean you have three zippered compartments built into the suitcase already. Standard issue. Now you’ve got two more bags inside the big one. Don’t ya think it’s overkill?” His pointer finger and thumb made a minuscule pinching gesture. “A little?” I glanced into the suitcase as I passed by the foot of my king-sized bed heading for the shoe wardrobe. Standard, indeed. I had my standard three bags in there. “You never know when you’ll need more room. If I need more, I can put the contents from the smaller bags into the main bag and have leftover satchels. Là vous l'avez. Where there was one, there are now two.” Traveling was a passion. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was pack. He looked skeptical. “Guess you’re right.” “Of course I’m right. Why? How much did you pack?” “I’ve got a duffle.” My jaw scraped expensive wool carpet. “Only one?” “Yeah.” He laughed. Bobby had a laugh that was oiled and smooth, a laugh that told people he loved to laugh and laughed often. I loved the sound. “About the size of that makeup bag. What? I don’t need more than that. I can buy anything I didn’t pack.” Well, so could I, but zut! “Doesn’t purchasing things leave a trail?” “Not if you use cash. That way the product can easily be purchased, then left behind. Besides, a guy walking the streets with too much luggage draws attention to himself. The less the better.” The walk-in closet looked daunting. I had too many choices. I turned to the shoe hutch first. If I knew my shoes, I’d know which outfits to pack. “What about women?” Bobby sank onto my bed with a sigh. “You guys have it easier. People expect you to carry more. So, when you have luggage it actually draws less attention. Unless you blend in easily, live in the area, know the people, know the traditions, the setting, if you’re luggage

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free, that could draw a few stares.” He leaned back, resting sideways across my bed. “But you’d draw stares anyway.” “Charmer.” “I carry all of my big ticket items or arrange for them, but clothes and toiletries ... why waste the space on non-essentials?” He ran his hand over my burgundy chenille comforter, tracing the horizontal rows and jacquard-woven medallions and fleur motifs. The touch was one of precision. “So, you live here, huh? In all this? Bizarre.” I peeked around the cabinet to look at him, attentive gaze scanning, brow pulled together. “Not at all how I pictured it. It’s more like a showcase than a home.” That stung a bit. “You’ve got the names. You’ve got the showcase furniture. The picture-perfect presentation right down to the vanilla scent in the air.” He didn’t like my air scent? Everyone loved vanilla. Gave a sense of home. Mentally, I shrugged. Look who I was talking to. Home for him was defined a bit differently than for most. Still, that he didn’t like my home smarted a bit. I loved my home. Yes, I took pride in keeping it neat and clean, but also in my tastes and the artistic appeal I knew it projected. I’d paid good money for that appeal. Mother and I had spent countless days getting just the right pieces for my collection. I looked around, took in the deep mahoganies and the fine texture. Maybe he was right ... a little sterile. A bit on the showroom side, but it was mine. “You don’t approve?” To ward off any anger on my part, he held up his hand. “It’s nice. Don’t get me wrong, Charlie, but ... it doesn’t really look lived in. How do you get comfortable?” I laughed. “When have I had time to live? Please tell me.” “It looks straight from a magazine, an expensive magazine, that’s all. I prefer the livedin look.” “I’ve been busting my hump on this stupid case with no life outside of work and Mac. I’ve eaten, slept, and breathed The Outfit for so long even my silk plants died.” He fought a smile, the slight dimple in his cheek puckering. “All right. Enough of chatting. It’s time for business, Boy Wonder. Talk to me.” He set his smile free at the nickname, and he kicked off his loafers. “Do you mind?” I shook my head as they fell with a thud beside my Bombé chest. Mac had christened Bobby “Boy Wonder” for his uncanny ability to pull off the impossible in scores and information retrieval. At fifteen, he’d known and seen things no child should ever witness. By eighteen, though Mac was loathe to admit it, he helped Mac run a large majority of her jobs. He at least hooked her up with the connections or the information. She trusted Bobby. That was an honor rarely bestowed on anyone. And now, pushing twenty-two ...

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“This is the story, to the best of my understanding.” “I really hate that phrase. Just so you know.” His shoulder rose a fraction. So slight in fact I had to look at his other to determine if it truly had. “Take it or leave it, Charlie. It’s the best I can do.” It wasn’t what I wanted, but ... “Talk.” Good. He’d talk. I’d pack. Kneeling, I search for my Franco Sartos. A girl could never go wrong with those. “Mac and Danni started getting into the nitty-gritty of The Outfit’s paperwork. This is stuff Mac heisted from their office, the stuff she didn’t turn over to the feds.” The shoes weren’t on their shelf. Grrrr. I always put them back. When had I last worn them? “You see, I still don’t understand that. Why would she not? She negotiated a full pardon.” “Something about insurance. Said that even though she and Gabe got their official walking papers, the feds have been known, from time to time, to conveniently forget their promises to the little man.” Sad, but true. Score wisdom points to Mac. “She said she had to have something in her possession to keep them off her back forever.” “Sounds like Mac.” Aha! Third shelf, fourth pair in. I knew they were there, and, I definitely needed to have the XOX’s. They’d go perfectly with my red salsa dress. Didn’t know that I’d be out on the town, but it never hurt to be prepared. “Mac also was very clear, and Danni agreed, that even if all members were booked to the full extent of the law, they would, at some point, be released from prison.” Lining up the pairs of shoes, I frowned. “So?” “So, as I said, Mac’s goal has always been the demise of The Outfit. Putting them away is a nice start. Ruining their business reputations, if only in the States, a bonus. But their demise is her pursuit.” “Nice. Now’s she’s going international.” “Going?” His brow rose as if to say, she’s always been. “If they’d just let her father finish out his contracts ...” I let the sentence trail off. All of the “if onlys” that overshadowed the people touched by The Outfit. I sighed. Things would have turned out so differently. “Yeah, and if they’d not killed Mac’s dad, or put that stupid contract out on her. If only they’d just let the Harmons go on their merry little way, I’d be fucked and still stuck running smack on the streets for them, or worse. And I know Mac tried and tried to tell you there is far worse.”

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I didn’t know what to say. How long had he been with The Outfit? Now probably wasn’t the time to ask. “If only those things had happened I’d have no family and what would Mac be doing, huh? For all your high-and-mighty, rich-girl-never-had-to-fight-a-day-in-her-life intentions, and I don’t mean that in a bad way, do you want Mac still stuck in the business? Would you prefer her to still work as a cleaner or perhaps, maybe, just maybe, do you want her to use her God-given talents to try to get rid of the bad guys?” That made me feel remotely ashamed. It wasn’t all about me. There were many lives involved. No. I didn’t want Mac to still have to work in that business. I didn’t want Bobby alone and on the streets, but I didn’t want my best friend missing either. “You’re right.” “Look. It doesn’t matter.” He said it in a tone that let me know it most certainly did matter but he was forgiving me anyway. “It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about doing what you can where you are.” He shook off most of the emotion as fast as it had come, at least on the surface, but I could tell by the hard set of his jaw that he was still troubled. “The Outfit did it all. Not you. Not me, and not Mac. They snookered her dad into working for them, knocked him off and forced Mac to work for them. They did it to me, too. But this is about Danni and their involvement. We’ve got to stay focused.” Right. I went back to packing. My bedspread ruffled. “The code words ‘The Route’ triggered something with Danni. Does it mean anything to you?” The Route. The Route? I shrugged. “Not really. I’ll think about it.” “Well, it certainly meant something to Danni. She took one of the files and said she thought she knew someone who she could trust.” Should have been me, but apparently it wasn’t. To be fair, I’d been preoccupied lately. She’d been busy. We’d seen each other for the occasional movie or dinner. We hadn’t really gotten to hang out since the New Year. I swallowed my pride. That was just my ego talking, and I knew it. I slumped back on my rear, folded my legs to the side, and stared at Bobby. Danni had essentially cut all ties with everyone and everything in Ireland when she was sixteen. There were only two or three people she’d ever really mentioned, but she hadn’t spoken with them in years. Not that I knew about, anyway. “Did she say who her contact was?” He shook his head. Good for Danni! Bravo. If Mac thought she was a hard nut to crack, Danni was petrified rock. “Mac didn’t press her for her source?” “Please.” He held up a hand to effectively stop the thought. “Mac understands confidence.” I pushed a few hairs back from my face, tucked them behind my ear. It slipped back free. “Mac just let her take the file?”

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He nodded. “The file that was her insurance?” “One of them.” Still. “She must really have faith in Danni.” Bobby did as well. If I wasn’t mistaken, the adoration in his voice sounded borderline besotted. “She does. Danni even came down to the house twice. Right before Christmas then again about a month ago.” A slight blush stole into his tanned cheeks. “I took her sailing. The woman’s quick on the uptake. She was commanding in no time at all.” “What?” I’d never even been invited to their home. “Don’t take it personally.” How could I not take it personally? Not that I wanted to go down there to their house. Not that I wanted to sail on the crystal blue waters of the island or that I wanted to snorkel in the reefs where the water was clearer than the sky. No. Not that at all. Now, the beach. I’d do the beach. See the water, not be in the water. After a moment Bobby broke the silence by saying, “They’re a pretty good team, ya know?” “I’m certain they are.” No one likes to hear their best friend makes a better pair with someone else. It smarts a bit, but if anyone knew about Danni, it was me. And I did know her. I knew her and loved her. She would make a good team with anyone. Her humor, her intelligence, her ability to put anyone at ease made her the perfect investigative reporter. “Danni functions ... I’m not sure, how can I best say this?” He cleared his throat. “More like Mac.” How could I love one woman so much and be so annoyed with the other? “You mean she’s not opposed to not following channels? Danni’ll get dirty to get her man.” He pointed at me. “Yes! That’s a very nice way of puttin’ it! Thank you.” “And Danni keeps Mac honest?” He laughed. I snorted. In simplest terms what he was saying was that legality was a perspective. I was going to pretend I did not hear that. “She does. Where Mac might take an ... alternate route to the end of the group, Danni has the power and the ability to totally ruin the men by making them so public that no one in their right mind will want to have anything to do with them.” As an attorney, I thought it best not to touch any of that. “I’m letting that slide. Why am I involved? I need to understand this to know how to fix it. Why did Danni go there?” “She went to investigate, and disappeared.” I shook my head. One does not just disappear. “Literally. She’s not where she’s supposed to be. We thought --”

Luck of the Irish: Shades of Doubt

“You mean Mac thought,” I interrupted. He took a deep breath. I tried his patience as much as he tried mine. “We thought, because you are her sister, that if you went and checked out her room, her stuff that the hotel’s holding --” “Because I’m next of kin, and Mac can’t get her hands on it.” He continued as if I hadn’t spoken, but I saw from his expression that I was right. “-you might have a clue to what happened, where she went. You and Mac have an understanding. You like working with me. Altogether, we can make this right again.” “Sheesh. What was in the file Danni took? Names? Meeting locations? Passwords and code keys?” “Yeah. Pretty much.” “Pretty much what?” “All of that and more.”

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Chapter Three First class was nearly deserted, which was actually surprising considering how busy the airport had been. It was good, but odd. I took a long, deep breath, held it until my heart thundered in my ears, and then slowly, silently released it. Half an hour standing almost perfectly still in the ticket line, and almost a full hour winding my way through the black rows of death only to have the pleasure of being searched by a creepy elderly woman with official-looking badges splattered over the sleeves of her white uniform and possessing really bad breath. All of that I was forced to endure, and yet the flight attendant still found it necessary to remind me to take my assigned seat. Like I would run amok and try out all the first class seats, hoping to find one just to my liking. Seat A. The window seat. With more vehemence than intended, I snapped the window shade shut to seal off the offending window, all the while refusing to actually allow my eyes to focus on anything past the smudged fingerprints on the windowpane. Being on the plane was a huge deal. Having the window seat, even more so. I could sit there and play it cool as long as I didn’t have to look out and see the small scale world beyond. The little screen on the seat back of the chair in front of me disturbingly announced how we were resting at approximately thirty-six feet in the air. Just sitting there. We weren’t even rolling yet. Resting. Can that really be called resting? I think not. Thirty-six feet is at least six and a half of me. Maybe closer to five. That’s a lot of falling. I sighed, shut my eyes, and allowed my head to sink back into the heavily cushioned seat. I couldn’t recline just yet -- we hadn’t taken off, and we all know how the attendants

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police the posture of the seats -- but I could make the most of a bad day. Yeah. That was one of my best adaptability skills. Swallow hard and paste on a bright smile. Few knew there was a problem and of those few who did, even less cared. I counted to ten and felt the tension unfurl a bit. Instead of a hostile ball of anger, my emotions had smoothed out into something more like a defensive border. Any minute now, my Valiums should be kicking in. Then I could sleep, and this part of the horrid journey would be over. Love to travel. Hate to fly. Hate worse to fly alone. Don’t know why, but I’d expected Bobby to accompany me to Ireland. At least accompany me on the flight. Somewhere. He wouldn’t have even had to sit with me, though that would have helped tremendously. It would have been a good time for him to fill me in on all the details of the last visit he had with Danni, who he’d talked to at the airport and Danni’s hotel. I definitely wanted to spend more time with him. He’d set me on this course, after all. I know how he is, mostly, and can appreciate that he couldn’t be seen trailing around with me, but without question, I felt the young man held the answers I needed. Well, if not answers at least he was a compass that would tell me where to look. I needed that. He’d taken me to DTT, helped me with my luggage, put me in the ticket line, and then gave me a quick hug. Before I could say anything, he’d started off. “Where you going?” I called. I was not moving from the line. Not now that I’d gotten situated, the bags lined up, my ID and credit cards out. Not even for a tall white chocolate latte, tempting as the thought was. Impatient people wound down and around behind me, probably all the way out to the curb from the looks of it. If I moved, I might be in the stinky airport all night and that was not happening! He flashed a quick grin over his shoulder. “I’ll be around.” Not comforting. “What? You’re not coming with me?” He shook his head negative. “How will I find you? You will be ...” I looked around. “... over there, right?” He winked. “I’ll find you, when you need me.” Again, not comforting. The woman behind me, pleasant-looking, late forties, gorgeous chestnut hair styled in a spectacular shag, spoke gently. “He doesn’t seem very reliable, sweetie. Let him go.” If she only knew. Robert Sebastian Connor was probably the most reliable man, young or old, I had ever met. Not just that, but it was hard watching the man you think has muchneeded answers walk away. Not that I could tell her that, though. A stately gentleman and his equally coiffed wife stood behind the stranger shaking their heads in perfect tempo. “We’d never allow our little girl to put up with that kind of treatment,” he muttered.

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The woman shook her head. “No, she wouldn’t. We taught her better than that.” Treatment? My mouth fell open. They thought Bobby was my lover. I almost laughed. Almost. Good taste, one and all. Bad call. “No. No. You’ve got it all wrong. Bobby, he’s --” They shared a knowing look. Fine. Let them think what they would. I turned back to wave goodbye to Bobby, but the man was gone. There one minute, so present, so full of life, then completely gone the next. As my dwindling luck would have it, the married couple was scheduled on my flight. While I silently invoked the name of every saint I could remember asking the couple would not sit anywhere near me, they’d chatted amicably. I got the distinct feeling they felt sorry for me though they were too socially tactful to come right out and tell me. Nodding politely at something the wife said, I took my first Valium right there in the ticket line. The flight from Detroit to Newark went smoothly. No turbulence, no one next to me. Open air. Only a two-hour flight. Short break in Jersey, and then I was seated on the overseas flight to London. This is where my nerves turned all hurvy curvy. Reality hit, despite all my best efforts. As soon as those wheels started moving and the turbines cranked, I would know I was stuck in a plane. Not simply airborne over substantial landmasses, but transatlantic travel. Seven hours flying over horrifically deep, animal-infested open seas, secured only in a hollowedout hurtling cylinder piping through recycled air, trapped with ambivalent strangers, with men I know nothing about at the controls of my future. Nowhere for an emergency landing save that very deep, dark water I’d do almost anything to avoid. Ironic, is it not, that my last name should mean “of the water”? At least, that was the story Mother told every time she attempted to make me play in the ocean with her. Instead, I sat safely on the beach; book in hand, sunscreen on, watching her. Graceful, she’d walk out into the water. It mattered little to me if it was the beach or an enclosed swimming pool -- it was always the same. Watching the cool liquid lap over her head made my legs weak. I would hold my breath until she surfaced, always scared she wouldn’t. I love amenities serviced by water. My shower. My sink and dishwasher. Bottled Evian. But to be immersed in it? Trapped? Never. The thought alone makes my blood pressure bolt straight out the door, my heart stutter. So, submerged in the icy waters of the Atlantic or trapped in a can hurtling through the atmosphere? Oh, the choices. My first Valium seemed most ineffective. It has been three hours since my dose, and it hadn’t worked so well. Although I have to admit that flight had been relatively painless, this portion of the trip promised greater panic danger. So this time, I popped two right before I boarded.

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The flight staff assumed their positions and began the dissertation from Hell, telling me -- no, taunting me with -- everything that could go wrong with the plane.

Thank you. Thank you very much; it’s not as if I haven’t thought up one hundred and three additional items you have not yet and will never mention. Their voices sounded with stereophonic quality, bouncing off the metal confines of the cabin. I kept my eyes pressed shut and took up my standard position. Feet square on the floor, my Fendi purse resting reassuringly against the tips of my shoes under the seat in front of me, my hands clutching the arm rests with a vise grip to rival the best arm wrestler in the world. I needed something else on my mind other than that of the painfully pleasant drone of the flight attendant. Bobby. A twenty-one-year-old. Not bad for an older woman, such as myself. I’d actually dated many, many worse men in my thirty-four years. Many. I suppressed a shiver just as the plane dipped on take-off. Count. My physician knew my love for lists and order. He’d said to count when stress became too intense. One. Two. How far into the sky could we climb? The compulsion to crack my eye open, just a tad, to see if we were in an all-out vertical ascent was almost overwhelming. Suddenly I saw a Saturday morning cartoon that never would have passed the FAA’s standards. The decrepit plane sputtered, dark smoke belching out of its armpits. Its nose propellers were broken or seemed to be. It shot into the stratosphere with horrified passengers hanging out the open windows screaming for their lives. Just when the plane reached the stars, it stalled and died. Paralleling the dark fantasy, my plane began to bump. My breath caught. Up, then down we went in a macabre, to me, bounce. A wooden roller coaster at a fifty-year-old amusement park provided a safer ride. The Granny Smith apple I’d scarfed on the way to the airport turned acidic in my stomach.

Boing. The sound of loathing. Boing. “Ladies and gentlemen, please, the captain reminds us that the safety belt light is still activated. Please remain in your seats.” My knuckles hurt from the pressure of holding on to the armrests. With all the juices burning my stomach lining, I thought for sure the pills would kick in immediately. I waited, breathing through clenched teeth. Any minute now ... “Ladies and gentlemen, there is a small storm brewing in the North Atlantic. The captain asks that you all remain seated until the seatbelt light is extinguished.” What? Were there passengers who truly wanted to move about under these circumstances? Just desperate to roam about in the small cabin?

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Did I smell smoke? I thought I smelled smoke. I sniffed the air. No. Burnt coffee and ... and mystery meat. Appetizing. A shiver wracked my body. Drug-induced happiness, any minute now ... “At that time, you will be free to move about the cabin. Due to FCC regulations --” Her rehearsed words blurred. To me they sounded like the annoying tinkling of wind chimes in a full gale. “-- the crew will begin taking your drink orders. Thank you for your cooperation.” “Like we have a choice,” I muttered. “What was that you said?” The accent was thick and male and oh so yummy. So much so my drug-soaked mind had to actually repeat (in my head) and figure out what he said. For the first time since take off, I glanced to my right. And the flight suddenly took a turn for the better. My stomach did another round-off; this one entirely caused by the love-starved hormones I’d not thought could be activated on an airplane ride. I was mistaken. Warmth coiled around my fear and pulled it into a tight ball in my very core, suppressing it, almost making me forget it. The sensation pounding in my heart, heating up my stomach, throbbed. Perhaps the Mile High Club had merit. Sitting one seat over was a man who looked like Jason Patric back in his true prime of Lost Boys, but this one had a full head of thick, rich, black hair, not thinning in the least. He had a thin scar on his chin and another high on his left cheekbone. It looked like at one time he’d taken one hell of a beating, and come out looking all the sexier for it. “Ahh. Nothing. I hate to fly.” “Ya don’t say.” His dark brow arched a fraction of an inch. Oh, yeah. Definite Irish accent. Hot and furling with sarcasm -- two favorite characteristics that had led to numerous past boyfriends, and one engagement. His scorching gaze traveled from the tip of my tingling head to the pointed tips of my toes. He hesitated a moment, looking meaningfully at my white knuckles. “I’d not have realized.” I’m sure the guffaw I heard was mine. I shook my head. He was fantastic eye-candy, even better to hear, but sheesh. Fine. He didn’t want to sympathize with my situation, his loss. I’d not trouble him further with my pathetic ramblings. Four years of celibacy or not. Fantastic accent or not. Gorgeous man or not. “Sorry to have disturbed you.” Jackass. “No. No, little angel. That’s not what I meant.” He reached out, touched, hesitated, then patted in a completely uncomfortable manner, my white knuckles. The contact was surprisingly gentle for such strong looking hands. He sighed, settled back shaking his head. “I’m not much of a traveler myself. Sorry if I was short.” Okay. Re-evaluation. Semi-jackass. “You don’t like to fly?” “Flying’s not so bad. It’s shorter than most means o’ travel and time is, after all, money. So I guess that’s good.”

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“I guess so.” I knew for my trip time was of the essence. Two weeks? Two bloody weeks, and I was just being told. If there was a way to get even with Mac for this fiasco, I’d find it. I’m a Scorpio. I can wait. But, to be fair, if they hadn’t waited I’d probably have flown with some overweight, needy businessman who wasn’t nearly as interesting as Mr. Yum next to me. Little blessings everywhere. I shifted a little so I could look at him. “Business must be good for you to fly all the way over here, just for a short visit.” “Hmm.” Not much to go on. I probed further. “Do you like your work?” “Aye. I love my work. I’m good at it.” “You just don’t like to fly?” His turquoise gaze darted around the first class cabin, seeming to linger on the rivets on the walls. “It’s not that really, it’s just that I hate feelin’ trapped.” I nodded. Me too, but the Valium seemed to help that claustrophobia. He continued, “No escape. No way out. Trapped in a tin can with nowhere to go if bad things happen.” As he spoke my gaze was transfixed on his lips, the way they moved as he spoke, the stubble on his jaw, and how the five-o’clock shadow really looked more like a ten o’clock one. His lips were full and perfect. His mouth just right to showcase his teeth. Flying no longer seemed so bad. Not if I could meet interesting people like him, hear voices like his, watch lips like those. I’d like to kiss those lips. I licked mine at the thought. That would certainly take my mind off flying, and possibly his. His eyes sparked as they followed the trail of my tongue. I watched him watching me and felt my pulse rise. I leaned toward him a little, turning so the buttons of my blouse exposed my cleavage to the best advantage. Maybe just a little kiss would be good. He seemed more tense than I. Of course, I doubted he had the liberal application of diazepam. I wanted to be closer to him. Actually, it was an overwhelming urge, a need I didn’t understand nor really care to question. I tried to release my hold on the armrest, but my fingers had been safety sealed into the clutch of death so long, they did not want to cooperate. Torqued as I was in my seat, hands super-glued to the armrests, I’m sure I made quite the impression. “Are you well?” Share and share alike. Distract and distract alike. “I understand completely. In planes, I feel like I’m in a metal paperweight.” He laughed. It was a good sound, hot and buttery. I wanted to hear it again, and again. It eased the tension enough that my fingers, after sliding them forward -- as opposed to trying to lift

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them up -- came loose. I pressed them flat, making the fingers straighten out, then I flexed them several times. “Funny to you. Terrifying to me.” I slipped one half-frozen hand to my seatbelt and deftly unhooked the latch. Glancing around the cabin like a fugitive and seeing no one truly paying attention to us, I slid from my window seat to the middle seat, cutting the distance between our bodies. It was a calculated move, bold and shameless. Guilt blinked through my mind, but I pushed it aside. I wanted to be closer, feel the warmth from his body. It was a long flight and being so high in the air can make a girl cold. Instinct said, No. Bad, Charlie. But the pooling heat in my stomach said, Talk more,

Irishman. Please, talk more. Either it was the heat and the hormones, or it was the Valium kicking in, which was a distinct possibility. I absently wondered how much longer I could go without blinking. The seatbelt light chimed and shut off. Damn the timing. Now I had guilt for nothing. He smiled down at me. His laugh wasn’t the only thing buttery. He had long dark lashes, warm and sultry. It just wasn’t fair. Dark Irish, the best-kept secret of the seas. With each word from his perfect mouth, each look from his enchanting eyes, I felt myself going all loose inside. “Then why fly, little angel?” Why, indeed? “I’d assume the same reason as you. All other avenues to Ireland are ... limited. Haven’t seen an autobahn connecting us just yet and, well, a boat would just take too long. Like you said, time is money.” Besides, then I would be trapped on the water. Head cocked to the left, he patiently watched me as if reading my true nature by the look in my glossy eyes. With the same deliberate care, I watched him. I didn’t know much about him other than that he was beautiful, and I was lucky to be sitting next to him, and I was suddenly very hot. I popped the top button of my blouse. “Why would you assume I’m going to Ireland?” Ireland rolled off his tongue. It sounded beautiful, lyrical, very much how Danni made the name sound. Suddenly sadness hit me with the force of a winter wind. I missed her. Was she all right? Would she have food and drink? Would she have someone to talk her through the night if she was scared? “Well?” “Ahh, your accent. I, well, I assumed ...” and assuming made an ass out of ... He eased back a bit, adjusting himself within the tight confines of his seat. Apparently not wanting to make me any more uncomfortable with my obvious rudeness and assumption, he asked, “You’re on your way to Ireland then?” I nodded. I should learn to keep my mouth shut. Why had I gone and said anything? It was foolish. Mac would be so displeased by my behavior. Was a nod sharing too much

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information? Had it been an adamant nod? Simple? I think it was a cool, simple nod. I decided to give conversation, safe conversation, another try, hopefully a bit more tactful than the first. “How about you? Why are you flying?” The raspy speaker announced, “Although the captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign, he has informed the flight staff that the turbulence is still a threat. Please refrain from moving about any more than necessary. The other flight staff and I will begin our rounds in a moment. Thank you for your patience.” “This flight is to London,” he said, as if he’d not heard my question. Perhaps I hadn’t said it aloud. I frowned, and it was a big frown. I felt the muscles pull clear across my forehead. How much of what I thought had I said, or said what I thought? “Bit of a round about way to get to Ireland, I’d think,” he commented. Hmm. Sarcastic and observant. Charming. If he had money, I was hooked for certain. “It was cheaper to take a couple of connecting flights.” He snorted. “You’re flying first class. Your shoes cost more than the connecting flight would. I seriously doubt money was your concern.” “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to comment about things like that?” Oh, be still my thumping heart! He knew shoes. Was he gay? I tapped a nail again my bottom lip. He didn’t give me that impression. Oh, that would be a true shame. I briefly considered asking. Our flight attendant leaned in. “Hi. I’m Mary, and I’ll be your flight attendant today. What can I get you two to drink?” “You’re right. It’s none of my business.” He turned his full attention, which was radiant, to Mary. “Guinness, please.” “And for you?” I wanted a bourbon, but with my double-Valium cocktail, I thought it probably a mistake. After all, I did have to change planes, somewhere. “Coke, please.” I glanced down to his shoes. Boss. Not bad. Classy oxfords. They looked well cared for, but not new. When Mary was gone, he shifted back my way. “So, why are you going, business or pleasure?” “Thought you said it wasn’t any of your business.” The curt words were out of my mouth before I had time to think. Delayed reaction, I felt my jaw slacken. Mon Dieu,

Charlie. Stop it! “It isn’t, but I am curious. You’re a beautiful woman. I don’t see a ring. You just moved to my side. It seems I should ask.” I didn’t trust my mouth. I didn’t want to run him off, but it seemed my inner demon had been unleashed and so far had already reared its ugly little blonde-head. He laughed. “How about this? Do you make this trip often?”

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“No. This is my first.” Then I shook my head. That was a bit of a lie. “A long time ago, I went to Dublin, but it was sightseeing with my mother. This is to see a friend in Belfast.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. Not that I could offer up the truth. It would sound horrid to say Yeah, I needed to come over and search for a friend.

Oh, really? Is she lost? Misplaced actually, but don’t fret. I’ll find her. Yes. I could see it all now. I sighed. I wasn’t about to put myself through that conversation. “Good friend?” “We’re sorority sisters.” Now, why had I gone and told him that? Wasn’t it among Mac’s extensive cardinal list of Dos and Don’ts somewhere not to share personal information with a stranger? Valium was truth serum! They should put that on the bottle right alongside the warning about operating heavy machinery. “Reunion?” “You’re just full of questions, for a stranger. Why not tell me why you’re flying against your better judgment?” His brow wrinkled and he looked so ruggedly adorable, I wanted to reach out and pet his five o’clock shadow, to rub my hand lightly over the top and feel the tickling sensation as the whiskers scraped my palm. “I had to see a business venture fulfilled. I was acquiring a new store. And I ask questions, little angel, because that’s how strangers become acquainted.” He paused. “At the moment, there is no one else I can think I’d rather grow acquainted with.” He offered me his hand. “Brock.”

Bbbbrrawwwk. Beautiful. The name sang, just like his voice. I grasped his hand. It was large, the skin rough and calloused. His knuckles were scarred with the same faint lines of his chin. It was warm, and strong, and his shake was solid. My mother always said that everything a woman ever wanted to know about a man could be discovered in his handshake. If that were so, Brock was perfect. “Charlie.” “Odd name for a woman, isn’t it?” I was tired. My eyelids seemed heavy. Tilting my head, I rested it on his broad shoulder and looked up at him through my painted lashes. “Charlize. Charlie for short.” He wet his lips, and my gaze followed the leisurely movement of his tongue. I can’t be sure, but my head might have lolled a bit as well. Damn, he was sexy. “Charlize is a unique name.”

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He was the type of man I could dream about -- nice taste in clothing, obviously in women. He had an accent to kill for, and he was in mergers and acquisitions, traveling between countries; that had to be an awesome job! “Not really.” I shrugged. “It’s a family name. Means womanly. Charlize M. Deseu. Nice to meet ya.” Brock. Tall, lean, black hair, and turquoise eyes, laughter to ease the pain and lips to save the day. I let out a long breath. And that’s all I remember before a gentle hand on my shoulder, shaking me, woke me telling me we were in London, and the rest of the plane was empty.

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Chapter Four “Ms. Deseu, we’ve arrived in London. It’s time.” My head pounded. Stuffed full of cotton candy sort of pain that shot bright lights behind my closed eyelid. I cracked open my right eye. “This was left for you.” Mary, the ever-pleasant flight attendant who, annoyingly, after our seven-hour flight, did not appear to have one peroxided-AquaNetted hair out of place, waggled a small envelope the size of a floral card inches from my face. It smelled of ... Polo. Brock hadn’t worn Polo. I distinctly, possibly, thought I remembered the notes of a Jacomo product on him. I’d liked it. The Rouge fragrance. My first non-college boyfriend had worn it. Just the thought made me feel warm and tingly, my toes curl. “From whom?” My voice sounded gravely. “Your friend.” I brushed the sleep from my sensitive dry eyes, flinching at the sandpaper feel. The scent of the paper stung my nose. Even wrinkling my brow to try to remember hurt my brain. Valium Hangover Hell. That’s where I was. “Um. My friend, you say?” She nodded, her hair not moving at all. My friends who knew where I was at the moment numbered exactly three, and I don’t know that I would call Gabe, Mac, and Bobby my friends. I should have left a note or called the firm or something, but the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Dealing with Bobby had been the priority, then getting to Danni. “All right. Thank you.” “You’d best hurry.” Hurry? Rejecting the compulsion to turn the other direction, roll up in a tiny ball and try to go back to sleep, I unhooked my seatbelt and cringed as I pulled one tucked leg out

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from under me. Piercing pain shot up from my foot. I jiggled it, hoping to stir life back into it. “Why?” Confused, Mary asked, “Don’t you have a connecting flight, Ms. Deseu?” Well, yes, I did, but I also had an hour and a half layover before that flight was scheduled to depart. It was then I noticed the plane was empty. How long had I slept? Surely they wouldn’t have let me remain on the plane that long. I looked at my watch and shook my head. “I’ve plenty of time, but thank you.” “Everyone has already departed the plane. You were really out of it there.” Apparently. I yawned. Mary left to speak with a young male flight attendant whose arms were crossed over his chest like a club bouncer. His lips drew even further down in an unbecoming frown as he looked at me. Both were flustered and ostensibly more than a little confused in how to deal with me. When Bobby and I had planned my route, we’d factored in time to rest, eat, freshen up, and left me with plenty of room to maneuver. We’d chosen various connecting flights, with different providers, and yet it had seemed a simple, almost direct plan. As simple as Terminal Three to Terminal One. That was a bit of distance, but I had plenty of time to make it there and the Brits had made the exchange convenient and efficient. With excruciating effort, I stretched and stood, testing my weight on my foot. The sleep definitely gone, the foot still didn’t want to cooperate fully, but it seemed to take the weight. Seven hours stiff. Not a good look for me, I’m certain. My suit looked good though. After gathering my purse and carry on, I thanked the attendants and disembarked. Stuffy headed, my eyes scratchy, with muscles bound up in slinky-knots all over my body, I made my way to a crowded ladies’ room to freshen up. I couldn’t have missed the other passengers by much. We were scheduled for arrival at Heathrow at seven-forty-two p.m. and it was only five ’til eight. I thought I might have even seen a few of the women from my flight when I entered the restroom. Mary didn’t know what she was talking about. I knew my schedule. The overhead fluorescents flickered. I glanced up at them, unconsciously counting the beats per flicker. It was a shame I’d missed seeing Brock again. The man was beautiful. I closed my eyes and pictured him. He was everything I’d look for in a man, if I were looking that is. Not that I’d had any time to look, not for an extended period anyway. But if I were looking, yeah ... his dark hair, his almost turquoise eyes. Ahhh. He was sex, or at least a version I’d like to give a go. If not sex, a little make-out session. Was that too much to ask for? I ran my tongue over my furry teeth and looked in the mirror. Flat hair, sleep fresh, day old traveled-in make-up. Maybe our not seeing each other wasn’t such a shame. Had I drooled?

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After washing my hands, brushing my teeth, and giving my hair a quick fix, I reached for my lipstick. My hand brushed the small note. I slung my purse over my wrist and palmed the envelope. Who could have left this for me? I opened it. Tucked inside was a tri-folded piece of yellow stationary. It was not a card at all.

Ms. Deseu: Repeatedly, you’ve proven you find yourself clever. However, on this count, you are most incorrect. You are not a leader. You are a follower. You are not the brains behind the schemes in which you have become entwined. So, please, do not, for a single moment imagine you are. This is not an issue to force. If you wish to see Danelle alive again, you will pay close attention and play by the rules you are given -- none others. You are being monitored. Go to the service station at Gate Sixteen. Just prior is a service desk. You have twenty minutes. If you miss our phone call, and we will only call once, she will die. My hands trembled. The paper crinkled unimaginably loud. The British accent piping through the P.A. system announcing arrivals and departures swelled and ebbed, crashing against my body with almost physical force, but I couldn’t understand a single word. All I heard was the paper crinkle. Slowly, I raised my gaze, and looked, really looked, deep into the long mirror stretched against the wall behind the sinks. Other people’s harried expressions greeted me. Women and children of all ages filtered through the room in a steady flow. Lit a greenish-gray from the horrid lighting, their faces seemed distant and blank. Their gazes skimmed over me or past me but no one looked directly at me. Strangers. Anonymous. Hurried, that’s what they were. Self-absorbed and self-consumed. Not a single one stopped to take notice of my plight. But as I scrutinized the wrinkles, the smiles, their faces and silent, moving lips, I could not fault them. I was exactly the same. How many people had I traveled with and never seen? How many of those people had needed my help, but had no way to reach out and ask? What was the saying? We hate only that which we know? I definitely knew this. Danelle? No one called Danni that. I focused on the stationery. Printed lettering made probably by a black ballpoint pen. It stunk so much that one would think the cologne had been sprayed onto the paper. Trying to touch only the edges of the paper, I gingerly rewrapped it and slid it back into the envelope.

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Preserve the evidence, my mind whispered. There might be fingerprints. Trace evidence, something. Saliva on the envelope. I should call for help, though technically a crime had not yet been committed. This could all be foolish blathering. That was the best-case scenario. But the note said I was being monitored. Who could I call? I could page Mac’s service. Could she get back with me before I had to answer their summons? Leaning my head side to side, I worked the taut muscles in my neck. That was my bestcase scenario? A macabre joke? It was almost laugh worthy. If that was my best, what was my worst? Well, the note said if I wanted to see her alive, so death, I guess, was the worstcase, but she wasn’t dead yet. There was still hope. My left hand hung, lifeless, half in the compartment of my purse touching the reassuring metal of my cell phone. I trailed my fingers across the smooth ridges. There was hope, and I could do nothing to jeopardize that. I had to do what they told me.

Repeatedly, you’ve proven you find yourself clever. However, on this count, you are most incorrect. My gaze darted back to the mirror. It would be easy for someone in a stall to watch me and monitor all I did. Slowly, I withdrew my hand and in it, instead of my phone, I held my lipstick. Carefully I applied a fresh coat, then slipped the case back into my purse. The sound of pounding blood filled my foggy mind, attuning it with clarity of cut glass. Suddenly, the British accent was crisp. I heard every over-enunciated word. Calls for unknown travelers to seek customer service, flight announcements, and delay news. Gate Sixteen. Terminal One. I was in Terminal Three. Twenty minutes and counting. My feet were moving, quickly, but for the life of me I can’t remember starting to walk, grabbing my bag, or even determining which way was the right way to go, I just went. My feet carried me, my consciousness, but my spirit was somewhere still in that bathroom clutching the note.

If you wish to see Danelle alive again ... Twenty minutes? How the hell was I supposed to match their timetable? Were they trying to make me fail? Why? The moving walkways weren’t fast enough. I briefly debated the ramifications of hijacking one of the little golf-cart caddies as I again checked my watch. Instead, I jogged. I was out of breath with frazzled nerves as I neared my destination. Sixteen, up and around the bend.

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“Charlie? Charlie, is that you?” Mr. Brock Wonderful. I sniffed the air as I blew past. No, the fragrance on the letter was definitely not the same scent this man wore. “Charlie!” “Brock, I can’t talk now. I really can’t. I’m running late.” I talked as I jogged. I wished I could. I’d like to stay and make passes at the best-looking man I’d chanced to meet in years, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even do more than have a fleeting reflection that he’d be a great kisser. Flawless lips, beautiful lips. “I thought you had a layover?” His dark brows drew together. His strides matched mine perfectly with little or no effort. “For that matter, I thought our next flight was together. We were going to have dinner and drinks tonight. I’d show you around my hometown. Remember?” No. I didn’t. I had no recollection of what I might or might not have told him, and I didn’t have time to worry about it right then, though I silently cheered my medicated self for the yenta it was. “Things change. It was truly a pleasure meeting you, but I can’t talk now. I’ve got to go.” There it was, a BMI service desk directly ahead. What if my watch was slow? It said it was eight-fifteen p.m. Had they counted the minutes since my plane landed or when, since I was under surveillance, I read their note? The phone was ringing. “Charlie?” I had to go. I had to get to that phone! Children screamed. Cell phones rang. “Charlie?” “Not now!” My head buzzed as I pushed past a tall, blonde man in an exceptional Armani to get to the phone. He was going for it, but I elbowed him out of the way and grabbed the receiver first. “Hello?” An accented male voice chuckled. “Ms. Deseu. I’m pleased you made it. Though I have to say, we’re all a little disappointed you took the time to chat with the handsome man along the way. Perhaps you aren’t taking this little situation as seriously as you should.” Brock stood at my elbow but didn’t speak. He loomed. Concern lined his forehead. Confusion wrinkled his brow. I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in that expression, so I turned my back on him. I tried to speak past the lump obstructing my throat. My voice sounded raspy. My calf muscles burned. “Who is this?”

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The man on the other end of the receiver laughed. “Tsk, tsk. You should know better, my sweet.” Condescending bastard. “What you should be asking is why we are bothering talking to you at all. You should be asking why you were included in this nasty bit of business in the first place. Those are the questions you should be asking. Questions you might have answered.” “Fine.” I pressed my shoulder against the institutional gray wall and scanned the area. For what, I did not know. Bobby or Mac. I needed Bobby or Mac. They’d know what to look for. Me? I saw nothing but harried travelers. None looked more important than the other. “Why me?” “Because, my sweet child, Mackenzie sent you.” That was not an Irish accent with which he spoke. A chill of dread slid down my spine. That was an American accent and I knew I’d heard it before, but for the life of me, I could not remember where. Southern, but not quite. “W-what?” “You’ll find I do not like to repeat myself, nor do I make a habit out of the practice.” I wet my lips. Why couldn’t I think? My mind hurt so badly. I knew that voice. I knew it. It was somewhere on the tip of my tongue. “You have a problem with her, take it up with her.” Brock tugged on my elbow. I jerked it away. “Ah, sweetling, if only it were that simple. But you, better than most, should appreciate how that is not the case. Mackenzie can be most difficult when she so chooses.” I conceded the point through silence. “It’s a characteristic we should have crushed years ago. You see, our darling Mackenzie, not satisfied with her own error, went and brought the naughty press into the fray, so all bets are off.” At that moment, under polygraph, I would have sworn (and passed) that my heart stopped beating. “That being the case, I’m afraid we have to go about this in a less direct route than any of us would have liked.” “Look, Danni has nothing to do with your fight with Mac,” I began. “Oh, but she does. She plays a much larger role in this comedy that the three of you know. The woman is a vault of information, whether she knows what she knows or not. But that is neither here nor there at this moment. She agreed to conspire with Mackenzie. She is guilty, just as you are, through that association, if not direct action.” “But --”

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He sounded annoyed, his patience wearing thin. “It’s truly very simple, Charlize. We require information that you will acquire and for that small service you will have your friend returned to you.” “Alive?” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. Brock spun me around to face him. Talk to me, he mouthed. Now. His large hands were a comforting shield on my shoulders. Their warmth seeped through the thin material of my blouse and for a moment, just a brief instant, I had the urge to lean into him. To give into that comfort and pretend life was different. My mouth opened, then snapped shut. I couldn’t even tell him no or explain why. Je n'y crois pas! I couldn’t even shake my head no! Instead, into the mouthpiece I asked, “What do I have to do?” The man on the phone chuckled. “First, you will lose the man at your elbow.” My heart thudded in my chest, pounded against my rib-cage so forcefully it hurt. They were watching. “How?” “How is not our problem. It’s yours, and if he is not gone within two minutes, this will be the end of our communication.” I gazed up into the most worried pair of eyes I’d ever seen and bit my lower lip. His stare held me captivated. The mixed hues of green and blue tumbled together. They looked much the same color as a picture Mac had sent me of the island water tossed and churned during recent a storm. Those eyes could make a person confide, or slip up terribly. “And just to clarify, when I say our conversation, in case you continue to hesitate, I mean any and all conversation will cease. If you chose to not comply, Ms. Deseu, you will have no chance for redemption.” “What is it?” Brock whispered. What kind of impression had I made on the plane? For I’d certainly made one otherwise Brock would not be standing there, offering me, a total stranger, support, worried I wasn’t going out for dinner and drinks. “Ms. Deseu, the clock is ticking,” the voice sounded agitated. “Does your silence indicate you’ve made your decision? Thirty seconds. Twenty-nine.” I cleared my throat and looked Brock straight in the eye. I pleaded with my eyes for him to understand, but forced conviction into my voice. “I’m on the phone, sir, and I do believe my date will arrive any moment. I'm afraid he’d find your nearness most inappropriate. Please, leave me alone.”

Please don’t make a scene. Please. Brock placed his hand over the mouthpiece, leaned in close to my ear, his breath hot on my cheek. It smelled faintly of a cinnamon gum. It worked with his cologne. “What are you doing? Are you in some sort of trouble?”

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I will be if you don’t leave me alone! I wanted to shout the exclamation at him, but there was no way to know where or how closely I was being monitored. They knew Brock was there, but could they see us clearly? “Ten seconds.” It was a risk I was unwilling to take. My voice faltered. “Leave me alone. Please. I’m fine. Really.” A small muscle in his neck ticked. His eyes narrowed. He looked as though he might say something more -- argue. Instead, he nodded and walked away. I didn’t know him, not really anyway, but right then I felt a sadness I’d not felt since my mother died. A soft, but painful heaviness settled off-center in my chest. I couldn’t speak for a moment. “He’s gone.” “Yes, he is. Very well done. Perhaps I was mistaken about you. Your commitment to your friend is commendable. Keep with that. Now, you be a good girl and go to Harrods.” “What?” I thought I had seen a satellite store on my way to the phone. “It’s not far. Yes. You passed it. Your contact will meet you there. He’ll give you your new ticket.” I shook my head. There was too much information. Too much happening. “Contact? How will I know him? I already have a ticket. Where am I going I’d need another? Why can’t we do this here? Now?” “Of course you have a ticket, sweetling. A ticket for a trip Mackenzie orchestrated. However, that is not the route you will be taking.” Mac hadn’t purchased the ticket. “But --” His voice lost all attempt at good humor. “You will do exactly as you are told, or you will not see your dear friend again. And that is what you want. Am I right? You want her back. We want our information.” “What information!” “In due time. Your situation is very simple. Your schedule is no longer your own. You will do as you are told. Am I clear?” Loose, straight strands of my blonde hair spilled forward, brushing across my arms. It felt like spider legs. It draped further as my chin dropped, momentarily shrouding my face, my vision. Not that it mattered -- my gaze remained unfocused, seeing nothing but the brilliant smile of Danni overlapped by the straight, proud back of the departing Brock. I shivered and didn’t know if it was from my hair tickling my arm, from my anger, or from the overpowering fear pumping through my system that drove me to answer him in a wavering voice, “Yes, sir. We’re clear.”

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Kally Jo Surbeck

Chapter Five Painfully alert, noticing everything and nothing at the same time, I stood at the fragrance counter trailing my hand lightly over the cool rose-tinted glass. The counter felt almost fragile under my touch. Since the moment Brock had walked off and I’d been forced further into this “situation” the pressure had continued to build deep inside my chest, and I felt that if I exerted even the slightest force on the thin layer of cut glass I could channel that magnificent pressure through my fingertips. Force the display case to shatter into a million pieces. With only one touch, I could ruin the Cacherel Amor Amor Coffret display, so I gingerly stroked the surface with infinite care. The harsh overhead lights cast my shadow long onto the shiny surface. A gaunt, elongated version of me stared back with blank eyes I didn’t recognize. I can’t explain it. They looked empty, soulless, hopeless. That wasn’t me, was it? How would I know my contact when I didn’t even recognize myself? His contacting me was truthfully the least of my worries. He’d know me. I had no doubt. These people seemed to know almost everything. A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. They had some bad information, though. Mac hadn’t planned my trip. She hadn’t purchased my ticket. Bobby and I had planned it, so I guess Mac would know my schedule at some point when Bobby talked to her, but she did not orchestrate it. Did they not know Bobby had come to me? It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. I carefully took the note out of my purse and read it again. Word for word, burned it into my memory. If something happened, I needed to know every word, every nuance in how it was phrased. What was the person thinking when he wrote the note? That one particularly intrigued me because whoever wrote the note was correct. I was not a leader. I

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never had been. That’s why I worked for a firm. Decisions were made for me. The risk was calculated by long equations on whether each individual case held merit enough for the firm to accept or reject. I was given a caseload -- one where I’d always excelled, but still I was given the parameters wherein I would work. I liked it that way. I liked the order. The stability. I built everything around stability. Stability my life was severely lacking at this very moment. Danni had never understood that. I think she’d appreciated our differences and how they balanced, but she’d never understood them. For her, taking chances was second nature. If people didn’t like her or misunderstood her, she didn’t care. That was an acceptable risk if it got her to where she wanted to be. I admired that. One of Danni’s favorite plaques was one I’d given her for Christmas our senior year in college of a Mae West quote that said, “Whenever I’m caught between two evils, I take the one I’ve never tried.” That quote summed Danni up nicely. Not me. If we went out to dinner, I had what I knew I liked. I went to restaurants with a reputation, proven track record, and clean health report. Not Danni. She was forever cooking something new, making a spot hot, reporting on the latest, or trying a new shade of makeup. During one adventurous conversation five years ago, she’d even tried to talk me into hanging out my shingle and working for myself. Why would I do that? I asked. Why risk the disappointment? Why start a business venture when I could fail, when all I wanted to do was prove to my father and myself that I was a success without his money and without his name? We’d agreed to disagree on that. She and my mother were the only two people I’d ever felt comfortable enough with to do that, agree on disagreeing that is. My bottom lip trembled in the reflection. It seemed I’d not just inherited my father’s blonde hair, but his desire to people-please. I sniffed back the emotion overwhelming my heart. The only things he cared to pass on were his faults. It had formed a pattern in my life and whoever was out there, watching, knew. They knew exactly how I would react. For the life of me, I could not break that pattern. Not now. Not for me, and definitely not to risk Danni’s life. I’d never really considered myself a worrier. I’d had a good life. A safe life, if one considered a life protected from the elements, safe from hunger or deprivation “safe.” I did work in law; I was cautious. I’d grown up protected, felt safe. At times, I’d been lonely, but that’s life. I’d had money and leisure. No. I wasn’t a worrier, not until my mother got sick. Then I’d worried a lot.

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There were many times over the years I’d been nervous or concerned about Danni’s work. She was an investigative reporter, after all, and she excelled at her work. All of that excitement, add to the mix my encounters with Mac and Gabe, and still only one time had ever caused me to experience the terror I now felt. Even the time when Mac saved me in that deserted alley. When I’d had that gun pressed to my temple, my thoughts had short-circuited and I felt empty. That had been bad, but the folded piece of yellow stationery threatening Danni’s life was more painful by ten than the thought of the loss of my own life. The man with the accent I couldn’t identify telling me if I didn’t follow their instructions to a tee, I’d never see Danni again, that stole my breath. Mac wasn’t here to save me now. No one was. Here was that chance I’d fought so valiantly for. The chance to prove myself. No connections. No name power. Money might help, but I had my doubts about that. There was one thing I did not doubt. They would hurt Danni. There was no bluff in the note. I refolded the paper and tucked it back into my purse. For all my not wanting to have responsibility on my shoulders, there it sat. Her life for my action. The truth weighted my feet to the exact spot the man on the phone told me to go wait. I’d not moved a quarter of an inch since I’d been given my explicit instructions. Bobby was wrong. Not enough information was by far more dangerous than too much. The petite sales clerk glanced at me over her shoulder. This time, however, she didn’t bother asking if I had a need for assistance. Twice before she’d offered and twice I’d turned her away. This time, she gave me a half-worried smile before returning to her ticker. I watched the white paper unfurl as she skillfully worked her numbers. Now, that made sense. Numbers. Order. How one plus one always equaled two. That I understood. The clack of the keys kept me company as I waited. The long white paper grew in length. She ripped the tape and started a fresh tally. A new ticket -- where were they sending me? I blinked and checked my watch. Twenty minutes. I wiggled my toes. If I left Heathrow with no one knowing where I was going or with whom, what would happen if I, too, disappeared? Who would come look for me? Would Mac finally leave her roost? No, she wouldn’t, but -My heart skipped a beat at a thought. Had Bobby followed me? Deep inside I possessed the conviction that he was watching, somewhere. He couldn’t travel with me, I understood the reasoning behind that. I might not like it, but I understood it. Being seen with me could possibly blow his cover, and he shouldn’t be exposed, no matter the cost. Certainly, he had orders from Mac. Whatever they were, I doubted they consisted of a ban on following me. That was just the sort of thing he would do, too. Bobby was masterful at blending in or standing out when he chose. My gaze lifted and focused. Slowly, hoping it

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appeared as if I examined the plethora of wares, I looked for anything that I might take as a sign from Bobby. Was he near? He would be close, if he could. I knew it. But the question was, how near? I swallowed. If he’d not arrived yet, how on earth would he know what was happening, that I was in danger? If Bobby didn’t yet know, arrived and tried to intervene, would he be all right? I could not have his life on my conscience as well. Somehow I had to warn him, but how? This so wasn’t my area. Low and steady in my mind, I heard Mac’s voice. Take it one problem at a time,

Charlie. “Easier said than done,” I whispered. “I beg your pardon?” It was another Irish accent, but thicker, more clipped. I smelled Polo. A hand slipped around my waist. A startled yelp escaped before I knew to suppress it. The sales woman looked over at me, her hand poised over the emergency security button. Half of me wanted her to press the button, the other half screamed No! “Love, you best act as though I’m your long-lost man, or else ...” I couldn’t force my gaze to meet that of the sales woman. Instead, I turned in the man’s tight embrace. The action seemed to take an eternity as I built up some level of excitement and life. My hand went mechanically to his jaw. Clean. Smooth. “Oh! You startled me. I thought we were meeting at half-past.” The man smiled. Nice, white, even teeth too perfect for nature, evidence of orthodontia. “Well done,” he whispered. “Keep that going and we’ll get on just fine. You’ll be free in no time ’tall.” Then he spoke loud enough for all those near to hear and winked at the sales clerk. “Check in was a horrid mess.” He pulled me close, so our bodies were flush. “Smile like ye mean it.” I did. “I’ve missed you, too.” He brushed a feathery kiss across my cheekbone. Stepping back, I looked up at him. Actually, he was not a bad looking man at all, save the rancid fact that I knew he worked for the dreadful people who held Danni captive. For all the muscle, the brain, and the money in the world, that knowledge alone made him unattractive to me. Still, he was tall, broad-shouldered. His blonde hair, a shade darker than mine, was thick with a slight wave at the frosted tips. He secured my hand in his and began walking. Dragging, actually. My choice was to cause a scene or be led. I didn’t want to go. I had to consciously force one foot in front of the other.

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Kally Jo Surbeck

I consoled myself with Mac’s own words. She’d said it herself, this was too big for her not to know everything that happened. Somewhere, somehow, Mac was tapped in or soon would be. She had eyes and ears everywhere. Either she knew or she would soon. That was of little comfort, but little was better than none. “Charlize, you will make it seem as though we are a perfect couple. You will speak when spoken to, otherwise remain quiet. It will make this trip more bearable for both of us.” My escort spoke softly. The menace of the words packed more of a punch this way. He had no reason to jerk my arm or command. This subtly horrified me far greater than any other approach he might have tried. “Are you listening?” I excised my wrist from his grasp and kept my stride in time with his. Not a simple task. The man hustled. Still, I hoped that answered the question. “You’ll have the window seat.” He handed me a new ticket. Fantastic. The window. “I’ll be right beside you. Do not attempt to make contact with any of the other passengers or the flight staff. Do you understand what I’m saying?” The window. Why? Why! “Did you hear me?” Absently, I nodded. I’d heard him. I’d heard every painful word. “Do nothing to draw undue attention to yourself and we’ll get along just fine.” After he’d said his piece, he promptly dismissed me. This could not be my life. I was a successful business woman, independent. No one in my circle would dare address me in such a manner and then dismiss me, act as though I weren’t even there! Of course, I reminded myself, I was not in my circle. These were Mac’s people. He had really long legs. I gasped a little trying to keep pace. “I don’t understand this.” He frowned down at me. He shortened his stride. “I don’t know anything.” “Of course you do.” I bit my lip as soon as it was out. There was no need to antagonize him. “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t. I know my place. I know my job. My job is the safe and timely delivery of you. That’s all I know. That’s all I care to know.” All he cared to know! We arrived at the gate. Our plane was already loading. “Do you have a name?” I asked. “Not one you need to know.” People crowded in around us as we herded into the plane. “If we are a happy couple,” I whispered, “I have to address you somehow.”

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Momentarily he appeared perplexed. Had he truly not thought of that? “Choose a term of endearment, then stick with it.” He offered his ticket to the attendant. “What?” How could these people survive on such limited sources of information? Clipped answers? Half-responses? It was insane. How could they not want to know what they were a part of? He shrugged. “It matters little to me. Choose something you can remember.” Oh, there were several endearments I could think of. He gently nudged me from the aisle to our seats. “If all goes as planned, you won’t have to worry about how to address me. Just sit there, amicably. Entertain yourself, be quiet, and soon enough you’ll be free of my company.” I stared down at the dreaded seat. All of the fear and loathing became represented in that one plane seat. If I sat down, that meant I was committed. There was no turning back. A subtle cough told me people were waiting. There was no turning back. Unhappy, I slapped the visor on the window down and sank into the seat. “Not a conversationalist?” A long sigh escaped as he adjusted his seatbelt. He shook his head and spoke in a low tone, almost as if he were speaking to himself and not me. “No one told me that you’d be yammering like a cornered pig the entire trip. I’d sure as hell have negotiated a different contract had I known. I don’t need this shite on top of everythin’ else.” My nails flexed. A cornered ... pig? “Son of a bit--” Oh! That was my thought exactly. “What the fuck’s he doing here?” My gaze followed his. For surely whatever could cause such a string of profanity could very well be my saving grace. A small group of businessmen huddled together, choosing seats. None looked familiar. Dammit. “I should’ve known,” he breathed. “Just like the bloody bastard.” “Who? Who’s here?” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “You just go and mind your own business, lady. It’s not your concern, and don’t go on with that expression on your face, either.” He shook his head and muttered, “I can’t take this.” So I was getting to him. I thought about my facial muscles. Carefully, I attempted to appear neutral. “What expression?” “You’ve the look of offended royalty about you. Distressed at sitting in my vile common presence. That look.”

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I couldn’t believe my hearing. Had the man totally lost his mind? “Of course I do. I am distressed!” “Lower your voice,” he warned. “I don’t want to be here.” “I’m not that bad. Actually, I’m the least of your concerns. You should count your blessings they sent me. You could be with some of the others, now lower your voice.” “I’m being taken somewhere I don’t know, by a man with no name in the hopes my friend is still alive!” It was shrill, but I did manage to keep it a hissed whisper. Which I thought was commendable, considering what I wanted to do was slap him square in the middle of his forehead. Or dance a tattoo of “stupid” there with my heel. Staring me down, he spoke slowly and clearly. “Exactly. I know what you want, Charlize. And I know what you generally have to do to get it.” I gesticulated in frustration. “And?” He clapped his hand over mine, pinning it to the armrest. “And you’re always being watched, so keep it down. Unless you really don’t care and if that’s the case, God help you, me, and your friend. If that’s the case just get off the fuckin’ plane now and save us all the hassle.” He released his hold. I rubbed my hand. It stung from the force of his action, but I didn’t really feel the discomfort. His words pierced my heart. How could he think I didn’t care? What about him? How would he feel having his family taken away from him? Not knowing if they were dead, alive, warm, safe ... whole? The green apple I’d eaten earlier reared its ugly core again, leaving me weak and nauseated. My stomach roiled with each slow beat of my pulse. “Just leave now if you aren’t willing to cooperate.” “I never said I wouldn’t cooperate.” Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I would not cry. Crying was humiliating. “I just don’t understand.” “Nah. You understand. You just won’t admit it.” What did I understand? They were all crazy? Or maybe that I was in serious danger? Yes. Those things I understood. Perhaps that he was an insensitive jerk or that maybe, just maybe if I stretched my imagination I could believe he didn’t truly understand who he was dealing with? That was possible. What I didn’t understand was why all of this? Why? Why me? Why Danni? Why this? Articulating that again wouldn’t help. It didn’t seem Prince Charming next to me was of the mind to answer my questions, any of them. And that was another thing I didn’t understand. Why was he so tight-lipped about everything? I needed to know something. I was spiraling

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through the world with nothing to hold on to. Nothing! Was a name really so hard to divulge?

Come on, Charlie. You’re smarter than this. Use your brains. Use your skill. Work him. The engines roared to life and my pulse tripled. Keep him talking. Hell, keep yourself talking! Do not let panic grab you. My voice hitched. “Is there anything you can tell me? Anything at all. Please. I need something concrete I can believe. Something tangible I can hold on to.” He seemed uncomfortable. I almost laughed. “I’m not asking for you to hold my hand. I need a thought. A truth. Being told nothing ... I need something. Anything.” Gone was the arrogant set of his jaw and shoulders. His gaze kept darting to the seats in front of us on the other side of the aisle. Whoever it was really had him on the edge. “Will you keep your voice down?” I nodded. “If you talk to me, I swear I will keep my keen at a respectable level.” We were seated in row seven, seats A and B, so only rows six to one were before us. That significantly lowered the faces for me to examine and memorize. I had not immediately recognized anyone, but if I saw them again, I would. Instead of smiling at my attempted levity, he grimaced. “I’ll talk to you, but about something else. I told you before, I don’t know anything.” I forced myself to count to twenty before I tried again. I had, after all, promised. For each beat in time, I memorized a person’s face, their hair, the cut, the style. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I don’t mean to push, but can you at least tell me where we are going?” “Belfast.” I felt like screaming or banging my head against the window. That’s where I was going in the first place. “Before you get angry. You’ve a different schedule, now. Try to keep that in mind. You’ve a new one because there’s a timetable to be keeping.” “What timetable?” Would someone please fill me in? He reached into his coat pocket. “I know where you’ve come from, you’re important there. I know. But here, you’re just another pretty face.” He handed me a tri-folded slip of paper, not one extra crease on it. That was attention to detail. It was the same yellow stationery. It smelled of the same cologne, but I was no longer certain that would help me. Since I knew he wore the Polo, I didn’t know if he wrote the notes or if they’d come from someone else. His fragrance might have just gotten on the paper during transportation. Yet, I hadn’t noticed him on my first flight. Frowning, I opened the missive. Printed in small blocked letters it said:

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Kally Jo Surbeck

The Crown. Eleven p.m. Ask for Barry. I looked from the paper to him. “What’s this?” He fidgeted in his seat, pulled out a newspaper from the seatback and began to riffle through the sports pages, not really reading the articles, instead, still peering around to the seats ahead. “I’d think it’s pretty clear. You’re a smart girl. Figure it out.” I sat waiting. “Those would be your instructions.” At least there was a paper trail. He scowled. “If the bastard wanted to do this a different way he should have done it himself.” I really wanted to ask who “the bastard” was, but I knew my bastard wouldn’t answer. Maybe my escort didn’t even know he’d spoken that last bit aloud. If I kept him talking, maybe he’d say more. “Who’s Barry?” He shook his head, making me want to scream. “Don’t know. It’s just a name.” Breathe. Just breathe. “Fine, then what’s the Crown?” “A pub.” Finally, an answer. That wasn’t so hard, now was it? rested on the tip of my tongue but I kept it quiet. I actually felt the tightness in my shoulders loosen a fraction. Perhaps I could get somewhere with these people. At least with this one person. The Stockholm Syndrome. I’d read about it. I wondered if I could make it work in reverse. “Thank you.” The poor man visually flinched at my words. A blush stole up his cheeks. “Ahh. You’re welcome, but don’t go thinking this changes anything.” He was a good-looking man when I didn’t have to be scared. “What?” “You need to stop asking questions. For your own good. You keep this up, you’ll just frustrate yourself and whoever you’re with. Just do what they tell you to, and it’ll soon be over.”

***** One hour, nine minutes, thirty-seven seconds and counting. “Relax.” It was an order. How was I supposed to sit back and relax? Forget that I was flying coach. That I could possibly overlook, knowing I had bigger things on my plate. Forget that both Danni’s future and mine sat precariously balanced on my noticeably poor decision-making skills and my ability to follow instruction. Not as easily forgotten, that, but I could find a moment of Zen if

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it were not for the complete uncertainty of the entire situation and its continued knotting of my stomach into a tight weave. I couldn’t even close my eyes for a moment without being assaulted by how every step of this trip had been plagued by misfortune and wrong turns. If I thought that I could keep my mouth shut and simply do what they asked of me, and know with a certainty that I would get Danni back, unharmed, I’d do my very best to comply with all their wishes. Every single one. Legal or not. I’d do it. I’m good at doing what I’m told ... if I see a purpose, and if I see that the outcome will be what I’m told it will be, but there was no guarantee here. I was smart enough to know that, and that’s what really chafed. My head hurt. My neck felt tight, as did my shoulders. Not even the fourteen-hour days I’d spent poring over detailed tax forms had caused this degree of tension. I needed to eat, my blood sugar had to be going crazy, which I knew was not helping with my fluctuating emotional state, but the idea of food was repulsive. My “friend” had steadfastly refused to do so much as to glance my direction after he advised me to relax. Twenty-two minutes, forty-nine seconds ago. Not when I kicked his calf, or stepped on his toes with my heel on my way to the restroom. Not even when he handed me a cup of lukewarm coffee. He probably felt making eye contact would prompt a conversation. Which, in truth, it would have. I was giving it my best effort. He just wasn’t cooperating. He needed a name, but what to call the bastard? I supposed the expletive was too much for repeated use, though it had potential. I ducked my head to hide the brief smile and snatched the Fendi from near my feet, opened the clasp to the purse, dug around for a moment. Inside, I keep a small tablet and several pens handy, pulled those out. On the top of the first page I wrote Name. From the corner of my eye, I evaluated him. Long ago, I’d found if I did association games, I remembered more about my clients and their cases. Who did he resemble? Hair was almost the same shade as Brad Pitt’s. It was short, well kept. It looked soft. Now, I was not prepared to test out that theory, but very nice in the on-the-wrong-person sort of way. Yes, I thought, rather like Brad Pitt’s in Seven although a bit longer. I frowned. My dear abductor didn’t really look like a Brad. Still, I jotted down the name. His shoulders, his height appeared similar to Ryan Reynolds, tall and rangy but solid. Ryan? I just didn’t know. Ryan and Brad were pretty common. Perhaps common was exactly what the situation demanded. Consciously make him just like everyone else. Think of him like no one and everyone, not my captor. It was worth a shot. “So, Ryan, what time do we arrive?” I knew the answer, but it seemed a safe question. He sneaked a peek at me and shook his head. In a court of law, I would’ve sworn there was even a hint -- the barest of one -- of a smile curving his lips. No, he was not a badlooking man at all. “Ryan?”

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Kally Jo Surbeck

“Why not? You said choose. I like the name Ryan. I can remember it. You said that was important. What’s it matter what I call you? You know a Ryan you don’t like?” That was rather pushing the envelope. I knew it, but my choices were so limited, and what I had to work with consisted of next to nothing. I needed him to relax, to talk, to do something useful other than sit and ignore me. Besides, if he didn’t like the name Ryan, he could offer me his real one. I waited, or tried to, patiently. Would he take the bait? “It doesn’t matter.” He went back to his newspaper. “Ryan’s fine.”

Dammit. “Look at your ticket, Charlize. It and that note you got tell you all you need to know about your future plans.” “It wouldn’t hurt you to be pleasant to me for the short time we are together,” I huffed. He could call me by my legal name all night and day, but I get a little attitude for Ryan? He recrossed his long legs and folded the paper. Well, folded would imply he took care with the action; rather he crushed it into his lap. Maybe he didn’t write the notes. “Well, pardon me, your highness, but I don’t particularly care for this abduction business.”

Yes! Your highness? “It’s not high on my list of respectable behaviors, ya know? So, you’ll have to be excusing me if I’m not feeling social this evening. Up to your standards of acceptable interaction.”

Be careful, Charlie. Let him lead the conversation. Let him feel in control. It was good advice I gave myself, there. Too bad I couldn’t follow it. “Then why do it? Why behave this way?” He turned, facing me. The action was lightning quick. His gaze searched my face. For the long painful moment it took, I felt the power of his anger. This man would be dangerous outraged. Not because of his power position, but because of his raw power. Emotional blue eyes stared at me, long and hard. His Adam’s apple dipped. “You’re an attorney, right?” I’d pushed hard, but had I pushed too far? This man was dangerous. It mattered little that we were in a public place. I nodded. Afraid it wasn’t the moment to clarify that I was a tax attorney, not just an attorney. “You’ve been working with Mackenzie Harmon.” His voice was flat, but those eyes sparked with ... something. It didn’t have a name and that elevated my worry. It was said as more of a statement, but I nodded anyway. How much did he know about me? How much did he know about Mac and her people? Did Mac know she had such a reputation, worldwide even? Damn the woman got around. Either that or she was incredibly adept at making choice enemies. The money on that was an even toss.

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His eyes narrowed. “If that’s the truth, if all I’ve heard is true, then you know exactly why I do it.” Frustration, hunger, sleep deprivation, and nerves spilled out in the tumble of my words. “No. No, I don’t.” And I didn’t. “I don’t understand any of this ugly business. God knows I never understood Mac. Not her work. Not her staying in a foul situation. Not the honor bullshit or the rationalizations she used. None of it.” He just sat there, staring. “I need you to explain it to me. Do you do it because you’re in the same line of work as Mac?” Oh, dear. That was a horrifying thought. A swallow lodged in my throat. He said nothing. No. No. If he were a cleaner, I’d have never seen his face. I wouldn’t still be alive. “Okay, so you’re not. Then you do it because you do business with her associates? Because you need the money? Because if it’s money, there are other ways.” Silence greeted my rambling and that pissed me off. “Oh, no. Wait. I know why you do it.” “Do you now? Have you gone and figured it out?” “As a matter of fact, I have. You do it because you get your rocks off seeing a grown woman scared. That’s got to be why you do it. Yes, that’s where I’d lay my money.” Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sank back into his seat looking defeated. “Exhausted” might be more descriptive of his state. He looked like hope had been jerked away from him by my words. “Then you’d lose your bet. I do it because there’s not a choice.” Tired of that excuse, I looked away as I enunciated each word. Play me once, shame on you. “There’s always a choice.” Play me twice, shame on me. He laughed. It was a sad, humorless laugh. “Rhetoric of the uninitiated.” “I beg your pardon?” I almost spilled my half-empty coffee as I spun on him. My knee hit the tray, jostling the cup. Scrambling to keep it from tumbling free and onto my slacks, I stammered, “Uninitiated?” “Aye. Uninitiated. As in not a part of the group, you know? An outsider. Is that more clear?” Up ahead of us, there was some sort of disagreement between two of the male executives. One with shoulder-length dirty brown hair and the other with a buzz cut, dark, with sprinkles of gray. They stood over a bleach-blonde male who I could not see clearly. They argued in low tones; but the one with brown hair, his hands flailed in the air with great enthusiasm. “You dabble in things you have no comprehension of. You know exactly enough to mistakenly think you’re wise, but you don’t know anything.”

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Kally Jo Surbeck

I pressed back against my seat. That was the second time my mental abilities had been slandered in under twenty-four hours. I might not know it all, but I was no dimwit. “You don’t know me.” “I don’t need to know you.” He spat the words. “I understand your type perfectly, luv. You spout off without a single care because your life’s easy. Always has been. Therefore, it’s easy for you to say that sort of vile thing from your lofty gilded perch. Easy for you to look down that straight nose of yours that’s not been broken once in your sheltered life and judge that which you know nothing of. You come from a different place, Charlize. You know nil of the world you’re entering.” All I could do was blink. “You spoke before of bettin’. I’d wager a fair amount of my life’s earnings that Mac tried to teach you, but you’re so pigheaded you wouldn’t see the truth of it if it nailed you directly ’twixt the eyes. Come preach your righteous stance to me once your life’s been ruined, once your family’s been threatened.” Oh, that was the last straw! “What the hell do you think I’m doing here?” Keeping my promise, I forced my voice low. “I’m here because of that very reason. My best friend --” He cocked his brow. “A friend, you say?” Not that it was any of his confounded business, but ... “Essentially my sister, the sole member of my rapidly dwindling family that I give a damn about is supposedly held by your people, and if I want her back alive, yeah, I just said alive, then I have to follow men like you without knowing where I’m going, why I’m going, and what will happen once I get there! I think that qualifies as having my family threatened!” “Vicious cycle, isn’t it?” He tsked. He lifted the crumpled paper and shook out the creases. “But then again, like you said, there’s always a choice.” The tears started then. No matter how hard I fought them, I couldn’t make the blasted tears stop. They were quiet. No sobs, just wetness. They rained down my cheeks, making my blouse damp and my head hurt worse than it already did. Sheltered life, indeed. I deserved this, I guessed. He was right in a way. Karma was kicking my ass. I hadn’t wanted any additional details about The Outfit when I had the chance. When Mac tried to tell me stories, I turned a deaf ear toward her. I built a brick wall around my mind and my heart refusing to see her humanity. I did think myself better. My friend and I were similar, it appeared, in our approach to work. Sometimes blinders were needed and supported. Do the job and get out. He predictably did not afford me a moment’s more attention. Not by word or by action, which was fine. I couldn’t choke out words past the lump in my throat anyway. I already felt weak and ineffective, now I was just pathetic. I could almost thank him for letting me alone.

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In a haze, I stared down at the name list. Tears plopped onto my writing, blurring the ink with the same dedication with which they blurred my vision. The two names ran into one another. What did Ryan know anyway? Probably a great deal more than I wanted to give the man credit for, probably more than I ever in my lifetime, this and the next, wanted to know. I chewed on the base of the pen. He shifted in his seat. Long moments passed. Nothing. I didn’t look up but I felt him watching me. Maybe there was only so much he could take. Maybe he was just as tired of this foolishness as I. Maybe he wanted to speak to me. Tears, badgering, close confines with a woman on the edge could drive even the toughest to crack, but he said nothing. I wanted to say something to him, but what was there to say? You’re right, I know nothing seemed insufficient and trite. Though true. He’d pegged it. These people were in control, and I didn’t know how to not at least pretend I was in my element. This? This was as far from my element as I could fathom. I had no idea about the people with whom I was involved nor the true extent of my dilemma. Those two simple facts scared the living daylights out of me. I don’t suffer scared well. This was one of those defining moments in my life where I fervently wished for my mother’s grace and aplomb in dealing with the uncertainties of a bleak future. All through her illness, she’d kept a smile. She was quick to laugh and always sought the bright side of any given situation. They were skills I’d not mastered, no matter how hard I tried or what face I pasted on for her in the hospital. The truth gnawed on my soul like a pit full of vipers, repeatedly sinking their piercing fangs into my tender flesh, leaving the raw, exposed wounds to the elements. What a mess I’d gone and made of things. Had I not pushed him, had I been nicer, Ryan told me he was being manipulated just as much as I, but no ... I hadn’t focused on that, a fact I could actually use. A tidbit that could be worked to possibly help Danni or myself. No, I’d felt the need to be defensive. What was I thinking? Gently, I rested my head on the cool plastic of the window shade. I couldn’t help. I could not help. “Mon Dieu,” I whispered. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. This was Mac’s group of people, not mine. My people share frustration over cappuccino or a stair-stepper. They do not traipse across the globe in search of a possibility. My people know the odds. They back the house. Long equations tell us the chanced outcome ... Probability. My eyes narrowed. That’s what I needed. Math.

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Kally Jo Surbeck

The formula for theoretical probability states that all things being equally alike is determined by the number of possible ways the outcome can be achieved.

P*A = #. Not so bad. Outcomes? All things being equal. Ha. When did that ever happen? Nothing was equal, not even when given a similar, non-lethal situation. There were always variables, not to mention human error. That had to be factored in. Besides, the only outcome I wanted to focus on was Danni’s being all right. There was only one probable solution with her safe release. The only acceptable outcome was my cooperating with everything I was ordered to do. I dabbed my tears with the small napkin that had come with my coffee. I finished the now icy remains in my glass, tucked the soiled napkin into the glass, and then flipped to a clean sheet of paper. On the top I wrote People To Somehow Contact Upon My Arrival In

Ireland. Who did I know? Who might be able to help? Police were out of the question. Not that I for a minute believed I would have an opportunity to reach out to them. Even if I did, I mentally shrugged; chances were good many of the police were involved. No organized crime group gained any amount of power without having corrupt officials in league with them. Danni’s family was out of the question as well. There were a lot of things she would forgive, but my contacting her father was not among them. There were two names I knew. Fiona Black and B.H. O’Bannon. I took a deep breath and wrote FB & BHO. They were people from Danni’s past. Fiona had befriended Danni when she was a small girl. She’d worked at a pub and Danni had, on the off occasion she needed a place to rest where there was no fighting, gone there to do her homework. BH was a friend from school. He’d been the only person Danni said she cared about enough to maybe, one day, go back and visit. Not just that, but he was her only friend from school I remember her ever sharing stories of their time together. He’d moved from their neighborhood. She’d come to America. Somewhere along the line, they’d drifted. She’d tried to contact him a time or two, but as far as I’d learned, she’d never had any luck. On the second sheet I wrote Places To Visit. The Crown. For apparent reasons, I needed to go there. The Europa. I needed to acquire the same room she had let. If I could be where she was supposed to have been maybe I could tap into how she was thinking. What she was thinking. I was her legal next of kin, and I had no doubt Mac had taken care of securing Danni’s belongings for release only to me. I needed to sort through those things and see what she might have had stashed in there.

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At the bottom of that page I wrote the name Saunders. Danni had frequently spoken of the family-owned restaurant. She’d loved the food, the atmosphere, the safety. It was the last place Fiona had worked, but that had been years ago. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I deftly folded those papers in half and slipped them into my purse. The last list I took careful deliberation with. On the top in small, efficient letters I stenciled What Not To Do. 1. Don’t get caught trying to do something stupid 2. Don’t align yourself with someone you cannot trust 3. Don’t share more information than you mean to 4. Don’t become a target 5. Don’t become distracted and get caught unaware 6. Don’t get caught trying to be smarter than they think you are 7. Don’t underestimate the enemy 8. Don’t, by any means, get in over your head 9. If you ever get free, don’t get caught again I stared down. I was already behind on my not-to-do list, but from this moment on, I would not sink any further.

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Chapter Six “How do I even know she’s alive? I mean, I could be putting myself in serious peril and these individuals you work with, for, whatever, they could have already killed her.” Ryan remained silent. It was an annoying ability I had found him to possess. “Right?” The only sound in the vehicle was the drone of the tires humming on the road, scraping over anomalies in the formation, the metal creaking as the weight of the car shifted. He hadn’t even turned on the radio. “Right,” I muttered. For a long time, I stared out the moisture-drenched window. Outside everything seemed gray and overcast. What wasn’t gray was green. Not like a Maine spring, more like the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz. That green. It was beautiful and surprisingly peaceful. As the road whizzed by, I found myself lulled by the scenery. The juxtaposition of how busy the city was at night, the world was in general, how many changes were occurring in my life, my situation, and the peaceful stillness in nature just beyond the thin window made me catch my breath. How could the world be so crazy yet so tranquil at the same time? Perhaps I was experiencing the after-effects of my Valium, a second sedation. I scratched my earlobe and glanced at Ryan from the corner of my eye. One more time, my mind whispered. Speak in statements he doesn’t have to answer, but look for telling body language. “These people are dangerous.” “Aye. They are.” “I ... I ...” Unaccustomed to fumbling for words, I took a deep breath, paused, tried again. “Believe it or not, I understand that I’m in a precarious position.” His brow rose fractionally. “Do you? Do you really?”

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“I mean.” Having a conversation about my comprehension or lack thereof was far more difficult than I imagined. Still, I pressed forward. If nothing else, I needed to talk. Hear my own voice. Hear something. Not feel trapped in a glass bottle, on exhibit. Seeing, watching, being watched, but not able to have contact with anything real. “Yes, well, you’ve proven it to me. They’ve proven it to me.” A middle-aged woman in the next car smiled as she passed. “You got me here without much trouble. No one knows where I am. Even if they did, I’m not sure how it would help the situation.” I swallowed. “Yes, I know they’re serious.” Though it was late at night, the congested traffic moved along at a fast clip. Amidst honking horns and the smell of exhaust we whistled along, speeding closer and closer to my destiny. While I was eager to find out exactly what these people wanted with me, every kilometer we traveled, the more my anxiety built. He switched lanes. “Good. Glad you’ve learned something.” “A thing or two.” “Too bad it wasn’t how to keep your mouth shut.” He threw me a quick grin. The action was shaky and tentative, but at that moment, it seemed almost as reassuring as if I were with Bobby. “It’s been a rough day, hang tight. It’s almost over.” I hoped that was true. In a different lifetime, Ryan and I might have been friends. I rolled my eyes and checked my safety restraint. This riding on the wrong side of the car wasn’t for sissies. “So ...” I drew the word out, returning us to topic not at all sure how to deal with the compassion I heard in his tone. “I know they’re dangerous, and I know they are contemptible individuals with little regard for human decency and life. What I don’t know is if Danni’s still alive and well or if I’m wasting my time. If I’m risking my life and reputation for nothing.” “Danni.” He said the name softly, as though it held meaning to him. “That’s your friend’s name? You said she was like a sister.” “It’s short for Danelle. Just like Charlie is short for Charlize.” Not subtle. I know. Perhaps he’d take the hint. “And she is the only family I claim.” “Danelle is a beautiful name.” “She’s a beautiful woman.” Her smiling visage seemed to shimmer in the far mirage of taillight illumination. “What did they say?” He took a left making the image disappear. I watched it as long as I could. “Who?” The change of topic threw me. He scrubbed a free hand over the square angle of his jaw. “The Outfit. What did they tell you? What did they say, exactly?”

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Hence, it was The Outfit after all. Good to have confirmation. The raw nerves in the pit of my stomach furled with excitement. I finally had a piece of information, and if I was not mistaken Ryan was expressing interest in the case. A good sign. I had to be very careful with how I worded my response. Enough information to tell him exactly my situation, let him know my plight. If he were a better man than I’d judged him, he could offer support. If he weren’t and it was a trap to see if I would spill all the information, I’d not spring it. “The note and then again in the phone call they said that as long as I did what they told me to do, if I helped them with some information, Danni would be returned to me ... alive.” “What information?” Questions were good. They indicated interest and kept him talking. “I don’t know.” “Broker information? Information retrieval? Distribution?” Questions were bad. They raised more questions. I smoothed my slacks, mentally following the thin pinstripes, appreciating the order, the predictability of the design. “If I knew, I could’ve simply aided them during the telephone conversation, and this would have been over long before I hopped connecting flights to Belfast with a perfect stranger!” The corner of his lips pulled down even further. “They didn’t tell you anything about what they want you to do? Not even a hint?” “No. They just said I’d do what they told me, when they told me to do it.” “Huh.” He shrugged. “I wonder why not.” Fair question. One I should have asked sooner. Zut! For far too long in this venture had rationale and logic eluded me. I’d allowed The Outfit the unabashed terror they sought. Mentally, I pulled myself together. Remove the emotion became my mantra. Logic and past experience suggested that The Outfit’s choices in non-disclosure were made because phone lines could be tapped, unknown parties could be listening in. Unwanted recordings? That explanation didn’t sit well with me. They openly threatened Danni’s life. That left only one other choice that I could think of. What they wanted me to do was simply too much, and they could not tell me over the phone. It had to be handled in person so I would not have a chance to decline. His brows were drawn, and I noticed with his more pronounced frown, he had a dimple in his cheek. “Information isn’t really your area.” “No. It’s not.” My area was weeding out truth, exposing it. Not a quality ranked very high in The Outfit’s esteemed opinion. I found his frown contagious. We pulled onto a narrow street. He exited the steady stream of traffic, pulled into a compact parking space, turned the ignition off, and toyed with the keys. He bounced them up and down. They jingled merrily as they struck his palm. “You may not understand what I’m about to tell you or appreciate it, but this is a situation demanding honor.”

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I snorted. “Honor!” “Aye.” Mac often spoke of honor, but in the years since I had become involved with her and her associates, I’d never witnessed anything I considered honorable. Well, except maybe her getting Bobby out of The Outfit, adopting him, taking him out of the business with her. I supposed that was. “Do tell.” He softened his voice. “The members of The Outfit live by a strict code. Albeit not the same one you live by.” “I’d say not!” “But still. They might be deceptive, but they won’t lie to you. Not directly. Not about something like this. To prove their point they’d kill your friend in front of you, for sure, but if they told you she’s still alive, she is. Trust that.” From his earnest expression, he believed that bullshit. “You see, she’s the collateral, Danni is. They obviously need something from you, very badly I might add, and you need something from them.” “Yes, I do.” She was more than collateral. She was The Outfit’s only chance in hell I would ever help them. He watched me for a moment. “That’s right. Now you understand?” I stared at him, not confident in what I thought I heard. I had to be misunderstanding. “Charlize, you both need to exploit that weakness in one another. It’s the only way for a solution to be reached.” I had understood correctly, but he worked for them. Why help me? “It’s the way of this business. One of you will emerge victorious. One won’t. It’s inevitable. I’m sure they’ve told you that if you do this, they will do that. Give them information. They’ll give you Danni.” I nodded. The keys clinked as he dropped them into his pocked. “This isn’t really a win-win situation, no matter how they pitch it. You understand that, right?” That thought had crossed my mind, yes. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, ran his fingers through his hair forcing the ends up into a punky little do. “Trust your wits.” “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re telling me.” My heart began to race. Had he, in so many words, told me I had a degree of power? He opened the door and got out shaking his head. My mouth dry, I followed. Please. Please, don’t stop talking! “Please. I don’t mean to be dense. In my line of work, I live on clarification. Please.” It was a beg, and I hated the quiver

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in my voice. The concept that I had some power, no matter how slight, intrigued me. How could it be possible? An ice-cream dream? He leaned atop the roof of the car, staring over the cab at me. His blue gaze, intent. The set of his lips, firm. “Trust your mind and your instincts. They’re good ones. They’ve done you credit this far. I know, in your situation I’d doubt, too, but don’t.” That was hard to believe, especially coming from someone who only an hour before said I talked too much, then had to sit through my deluge of tears. “You’ve hung tight,” he commended. “You’ve done good. Mac never would’ve trusted someone that didn’t have it on the ball, and she’s counting on you big time.” Slowly, I walked around the front of the car to his side, counting steps as I went. It paced my mind, seemed to align my thoughts. There were so many questions running through my mind. How well did he know Mac? How did he know Mac? Was it only through the grapevine, through their working for communal baddies? How would he know whether or not she trusted or believed in me? But most importantly, “Why should I trust what you say about this subject of honor?” He took a deep breath, then expelled it. His gaze darted around as though he looked for something or someone. He examined the passing cars, the tall buildings, the pedestrians on the street. If I was not nervous before, his growing agitation would have done it. I gave a dry swallow. He placed his hand on my elbow and guided me from the wet streets onto the relatively dry sidewalk. In a low, confidential tone he offered the rarest of gems. “You can drop the Ryan thing. My name is Aidan.” Not caring who witnessed my reaction, I ceased walking, my feet rooted to the cold pavement. He was talking to me, really talking to me, trusting me with something he shouldn’t, and it meant the world. Foolish tears again threatened, however, this time I blinked them away. He shrugged. “Sorry to meet you?” Aidan. “I’ve never met an Aidan before.” He looked like an Aidan. It suited him. Hesitantly, I took two steps toward him, until I stood by his side. I offered my hand. It shook. “Charlie.” “Charlie,” he repeated. He accepted my hand and tucked it over his forearm so he could lead me and we could look like a happy couple out. Then he said, “But for all purposes relating to The Outfit, I’ll still call you Charlize. Now, we need to move. Can’t just stand here all night. You’ve a meeting to attend.” Understanding, I nodded. “Thank you. Your sharing that helps. A lot. Aidan’s a good name. Strong. Rather fierce. It suits you well.” He blushed. “Glad you like it.”

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His soft laugh startled me a bit. I allowed him to lead me away from the car. I gave a slight tug on his jacket sleeve. “I’m sorry.” “About what?” I glanced back over my shoulder. “Back there. Do you think anyone saw us? I didn’t mean to draw attention. I was just ... I was surprised.” “No.” He looked where I had. “I don’t think so, but you can’t be too careful. They’ve eyes and ears everywhere. It’s something you’ve a need to be mindful of.” He scrubbed the back of his neck. The action reminded me of a small child, and suddenly I looked at him with new eyes. He acted just as scared as I felt. “And I do mean everywhere. I’ve got more to share with you, Charlie. If you think you’re up to it.” He walked faster as we weaved our way through a parking lot heading toward the back of a large building. “I can handle it.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you certain, because we’re almost there, and I’ll have to say it quick? This is us. This building here.” It didn’t look that impressive. I don’t know what I’d expected but this wasn’t it. “I’m sure Barry can wait a moment, but I thought we were going to a pub. This is a public place, right? A busy place? So why are we going in the back?” “That’s a perfect example of what I want to speak with you about. Keep your mouth shut. Don’t ask questions. No matter how much you want to know the answer. Watch where the situation leads, and for the love of God don’t try to annoy the people you’re with on purpose. Talking them into submission is not the right option.” He held up his hand. “I’m not saying this to piss ya off, so please listen to me. We don’t have much time.” I pulled my jacket tighter around my waist. The wind was chilly and his words stung. “Then why are you?” He stopped, grabbed my shoulders. “This isn’t a time for hurt feelings. Good heavens, I’m telling you this to warn you. Look, these men have the same issues you do with control, but they have guns backing them. That’s a pretty big difference where I come from.” I stepped over a small murky puddle. “And that difference can mean life or death. I’d say the one without the guns needs to back down. A little. For now. Please, Charlie. For your sake and for Danni’s.” Sadly, he’d nailed it on the head. I felt so out of my league not having any control. Though I didn’t live dangerously, nor on the edge, my routine, my control, my living in a situation where I knew the ins and outs was my comfort. “Charlie, you a poker player?”

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I shook my head no. Occasionally, Mother and I had played bridge or pinochle, but never poker. It was a favorite time waster of Danni’s I’d never picked up. Now her love of backgammon. That, I’d sucked up like a sponge. We’d spent hours competing. He took my right hand in his and led me through the door. “It’s like Hold ’Em. Right now the River hasn’t been played. Things can still change. In whose favor, no one knows just yet. It’s still a bluff.” Totally an analogy I didn’t understand. I shook my head and focused on his words. I was certain any information he chose to share was important, and though too much was happening, people walking by, the crush of patrons entering the pub, for me fully to comprehend the significance. I wanted to remember everything to think on later. “You’ve lost me.” “Right now, as both sides view the situation, your only bargaining position is your connection to your friend and what The Outfit thinks you can do for them.” We pushed our way through a party of seven milling about. He leaned a bit closer so I could hear him over everyone else. “Until that position changes, and it could at any given moment, play it close to the chest.”

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Chapter Seven As soon as we stepped into the main area of the historic bar, my mind was wiped clean of the nastiness as I was surrounded by truly magnificent beauty and artisanship the likes of which I’d never before seen. Not in all my travels had I witnessed anything as compelling and utterly magical in a place as common as a pub. “Deserves its name, doesn’t it?” “The Crown?” I nodded, scanning my new environment. “Yes. It’s regal.” Aidan laughed. “No. The Crown is known as the most beautiful bar in the world.” A well deserved title. The high ceiling was adorned with primrose yellow, with red and gold. Patterned tiles lined the walls and the floor was gorgeous with inlaid mosaic tiles. The amount of time and talent it had taken to construct the ambiance stunned me. The fact that the city had seen fit to preserve and protect somehow gave me hope. “I can’t believe it. The hours those painted glass windows must have taken!” Aidan looked around. “Yup. Every time I come here, I see something new that I hadn’t the time before. The little things change with the light, the time of day. Sometimes it even seems as though it changes with the people I’m with. Sounds crazy, I know.” There was so much. So much beauty in the detail. Attention had been given to the smallest elements like the pointed hooks on the pineapple, or the veins on the Fleur-de-lis. The woodcarvings alone, if one had time, could take days to study and appreciate. I hoped the patrons of the pub appreciated the majesty surrounding them. As Aidan escorted me through the regulars, I marveled at the religious maintenance generations had bestowed on preserving the bar. It spoke highly of a society to have such pride in living artifacts. It did to me, anyway. Aidan scratched his chin and with one finger slightly indicated a direction. “See the bar? You’ve got to go over there and ask for your contact.”

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Panic stole my breath. “What? You’re not taking me to them?” Not that I knew much about him, but twice now people who had answers had abandoned me. First Bobby and now Aidan. A smirk quirked his lip. “I did. You’re here. The rest is up to you. Until you hear otherwise, I’m no longer involved.” With no other choice but continued action, I turned toward the bar and my back on Aidan. The crowd swallowed me, pushed me forward in the gentle ebb and flow of customers. My brow wrinkled, and I nudged my way past the last few and up to the alter bar. The long bar was topped with gorgeous red granite and divided by columns. One would think it too much, the opulence, but it was tastefully done. It spoke of the past with coy whispers. “Excuse me.” I tapped the countertop. “Excuse me.” A handsome young man with a buzz haircut looked up from the highball glass he towel-dried. He had gentle eyes, a soft demeanor as though he’d waited on many people over the years, heard their tales of woe and happiness, as though he’d listened and cared. Then again, I acknowledged, I could just be hoping. “I’m supposed to meet Barry.” That sounded pathetic, like a teen getting carded. “American.” The statement surprised me. I’m not sure why. I suppose in America we hear an Irish accent and think, Oh, Irish. Why wouldn’t they? “Yes. I am. Can you tell me if Barry is here yet?” He looked me over, head to toe. I wasn’t certain if I gained approval or disgusted him. The expression he bore was completely impartial. “F.” “F?” As in? Finally, he offered an expression and not one I wanted either. He appeared disappointed in my ignorance as he pointed a bejeweled finger over my shoulder. I turned to look. A group of three men sat in a small booth. Lettered from A-J, there were ten different ornately carved cubicles. “Your mates are in that snug there,” the bartender said. All three men matched my gaze and held unwavering eye contact, but none gestured or summoned me. All three wore expensive black suits. Their ties were the only notable difference in dress. Two wore green. One wore blue with diagonal stripes. The man with the blue tie had a large sapphire ring on his pointer finger. He also had a manicured mustache. A chill swept up my spine and suddenly something Bobby said on our way to the airport haunted me. When you get the chance, Charlie, look where they aren’t. Chances are

good one or more of their men are there, where they don’t look. They never have to look where they’re covered.

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They weren’t looking at anything except me. My heart plummeted. That many? If that were the case, Aidan was right to be concerned and warn me there were eyes and ears everywhere. He hadn’t lied about that. He’d told me his name. I’d trust his advice. I had the overpowering urge to scan the room and locate him. Would he help me? Protect me if I were in danger? I could almost hear Bobby’s rich laughter. Not likely. He brought you here, babe. He’s

one of them. Hired by them. Works for them. Remember your rules. The one about trusting? “Shut up,” I whispered. Great. Fantastic. Hearing voices in my head and now, talking back to them. I was cracking. Plain and simple. I’d lost my mind and slipped over the precarious edge of sanity into Mac’s world. I’d better go talk to those who summoned me before I lost all hold on reality. I took slow, measured steps, counting them as I untied the sash on my overcoat. When I reached the snug, I slipped out of my trench and handed it to a burly man in a very tight fitting pair of jeans. It was a guess that he was their man, but one proven correct as his hand jetted out, and he accepted my coat without ever looking my way. The action drew my attention to the sinewy muscles, the raised scars, the freckles and a massive tattoo on his forearm of a wicked-looking clover that had writing as the boundaries of the leaves. It was a foreign language I didn’t know. My gaze narrowed. When his arm moved, it looked as though the clover were on fire. I snapped my attention back to the men awaiting me. At the table, the leader, the man with the sapphire ring and blue tie, smiled approvingly, exposing capped teeth. He sat in the inner corner, neatly protected by the man at his side. “Nicely played, Ms. Deseu. Please, have a seat.” “Thank you.” A bit clipped perhaps, but pleasant, considering. I’d even managed a convincing smile. Not really wanting to accept sapphire man’s offer, I knew I had to. My knees were weak, and what other choice did I have, really? Running screaming from the pub held its appeal, but no real promise. He and the taller of the green ties sat on one side of the burnished table. I slid into the booth next to the other man. He appeared more compact in nature. Tightly coiled like a fighter. He never took his observant gaze off me. It was more than a little disconcerting. Sapphire made a big production of looking down to his Blancpain. “You’re early. I like that. It bodes well for our future business dealings.” I looked at my seatmates. “Where’s Barry?” I asked about the supposed contact. The man with the sapphire ring smirked. “Funny.” Aidan’s words whistled in my mind. It’s just a name. I’ll be damned, he’d helped me from the beginning. Trust your wits. I just needed to pay better attention.

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The man speaking was not the same one with whom I had spoken on the phone. Though he, too, had an American accent, it was not the same sickly sweet intonation. Silver liberally salted his well-kept brown hair. His tie was silk. His suit A&S. His ring not only boasted a massive sapphire, diamonds flanked the center stone. Scrollwork surrounded the gems, but without focusing, I didn’t know the design, and I wasn’t about to look down and give him the satisfaction. Instead, I continued taking note of all his attributes, memorizing them without looking too closely. Two fine white scars marred his medically enhanced chin. His brow, too smooth for a man his age, spoke of either botox or cosmetic surgery, an eye-lift or some such treatment. He wore his mustache as though it were new growth, fiddling and playing with it constantly. “Did you have a pleasant flight?” His glancing at his watch reminded me of how long it had been since I’d showered, eaten. This cordiality might kill me. I stifled a yawn. “I arrived safely. I don’t ask for much more, except for, perhaps, my friend.” He tilted his head to the side, sending an itch of a memory scratching through my tired mind. If I stripped him of the new facial hair ... If I modified his chin, rounded it, made it weaker ... This man I knew. He looked a little different from the last time I had seen him. He’d not been present at the last few sessions of trial. The defense had claimed he was ill. Ill? Ha! He was seeking medical treatment surely enough, but not the kind of which the court would approve. Apparently, he’d spent more than a little of the illegal money he’d ferreted to offshore accounts on cosmetic surgery, but not nearly enough in my opinion. He still looked basically like the same man. That could mean one of two things. One, he didn’t have enough money and/or time to finish his “alterations.” Or, two, the more likely scenario, his ego was so bloated he didn’t want to be totally changed. He wanted recognition. He’d have it. Smoothing the creases of my slacks with small, even strokes, I said, “Henderson. Why have you called me here?” Theodore Henderson, Teddy to his friends, chewed on a small red stir stick from his mixed drink. He smiled. It was slow, leisurely, and predatory. “Ahh, so you know.”

Give him what he wants, Bobby whispered in my mind. I sighed, loudly. I pushed the hair back from my face, tucked several strands behind my ear. What he wants ... he wanted drama. “I think it evident you wished me to. Now, why all this? You could have contacted me through your legal counsel --”

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“Ms. Deseu,” he interrupted my spiel. “My girl, you should know by now our vocation is not meant to be handled through legal counsel. This work requires a more ... personal touch.” The muscle in my jaw ached from my clenching my teeth. I thought I saw the man next to Henderson crack a smile at his boss’s words. The one to my right still hadn’t moved. He simply sat and watched. “Charlize, would you care for something to eat or drink? You really should try their Irish stew. It’s fantastic.” The man next to him reached between them and lifted a box. He held it low and practically concealed under the table. My heart jammed in my throat, lodged there. A gun? Here? In the middle of a pub? Why would they want to shoot me in public? Were they that secure in the hold they had over the community? To my relief, Henderson reached in and withdrew a fat cigar. “The House’s own recipe, I’m told. They won’t sell it. I’ve offered. Truly mouthwatering. I get it every time I come here.” He struck a match across the gun metal plate and lit a fat cigar, puffing the rich, flavorful smoke into my face. I fought a cough. It was a mixture of relief and allergy. My heart couldn’t take much more of this excitement. My delicate disposition was not designed for starts and stops and scares and dangerous situations. I didn’t have that elasticity about me like Danni and Mac. I preferred to think of myself more like fine china. “That would be delightful. Thank you.” With a sharp jerk of his wrist, Henderson rang the beautiful brass bell adorning our snug and the server materialized at my elbow. What service! Didn’t find that in most of greater Detroit! As he placed our orders, Henderson smoothed his mustache repeatedly as though he were self-conscious. “The four of us will have the Irish Stew. I’m sure it’s not too late. There must be some left.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He continued speaking as if in one breath. “Mr. Stone and I will have another Tom Collins. Mr. Roberts --” He indicated the man next to me with a curt nod of his head. “He will have a Gibson.” My stomach soured just at the thought of their drinks, and I was no longer certain I would be able to eat anything. “The lady --” “The lady will have tea. Thank you very kindly. With milk and two cubes of sugar, all on the side, please.” I interrupted him. Without assertion, I had nothing. He might be in control of the situation and I might not like that, but he would not control my beverage. “It was a long flight, it’s cold outside, and I just want to warm up.” “As you please.” Henderson dismissed the server. It was a small defiance, but its success steeled my confidence.

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Henderson tapped his pinkies together as he steepled his hands, then he rested his chin on the tips of his long pointer fingers, his elbows on the table. For just a moment, his gaze wandered out of our box and into the din of customers, then fixated on someone or something. I wanted to look so badly, but I kept my eyes trained on him, my body slightly turned in toward him, my head straight forward. So much so, in fact, the muscles in my neck tweaked a bit. He conferred a slight inclination of his head and my resolve almost snapped. A clink at my elbow startled me. I flinched a little as my saucer and tea were placed on the table. “It’s been a horribly long day. I’m tired and want this business concluded as quickly as possible, so can you please cut to the chase?” I accepted my warm tea, gratefully. To give my hands something to do, I unfolded my napkin and placed it in my lap. As soon as the server departed from delivering our drinks, I took a long, slow sip and looked over the rim at Henderson. “What can we do to expedite this transaction to our mutual gain?” He laughed. Actually laughed. I didn’t much care for the sound. It grated my frazzled nerves. “I like how you think. It’s no wonder our darling Mackenzie chose you to work with. How was it your two met, again?” “We ran into one another.” In a manner of speaking. “However ...” Fighting for patience, I let my shoulders sag as though beaten -- that wasn’t far from how I felt. “We’re not here to discuss that, or are we?” The corner of his lip twitched. “Always about business, are we?” “We’d most certainly like to be.” I took another sip. I was tired, and the action seemed more mechanical than savory until the warm liquid slid down my throat, heating me, comforting me. It was wonderful. I wondered at the brand and the flavors. Our stew arrived. The distraction afforded me an opportunity to shift slightly and examine the patrons of the bar. Careful not to be too obvious, I looked where I thought I had seen Henderson’s attention wander. There, at the bar, talking to the bartender who had pointed me toward the snug, was one of the men from the plane. He was not one of the businessmen, but rather, he had been a loner who sat by himself in the second row. He had colorful tattoos disappearing up under the cuffs of his shirt, but he was too far away for me to determine many details. I’d not noticed him look my direction once on the plane. The man seated next to me referred to as Roberts kicked me as he shifted position in the small confines of our booth. It seemed accidental. He reacted instantly by placing the flat of his palm on my thigh. It was an action I often did to keep something from tipping over, and it confused me. It was an action of reassurance that was in direct contradiction to their wanting to kill Danni. I almost said something to acknowledge that it was all right but at the last moment I looked up and found Henderson and Stone watching the two of us, both men with keen blue eyes. The man with the green tie seemed particularly interested in my response to Roberts. I

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attempted to cover my lapse using my best ally, frustration. “So, this is all because you’re angry with Mac?” Henderson set his cigar down, cradling it in the small crook of the ashtray before turning his attention to his drink. He swirled the liquid contents, narrowed his eyes, watching the motion. He then cleared his throat. Each word seemed carefully chosen and enunciated. “Charlize, angry is such a nondescript word. I don’t think you can appreciate how little it does to actually illustrate how the others and I feel about that young lady.” He certainly sounded angry to me. “No. This is not about anger with Mackenzie.” Henderson set his glass down, plucked the orange slice from the side of his glass, and slowly peeled the rind away from the fruit. Dread filled my mind with shadowed impressions of discomfort. I’d never thought of that particular deed as cruel or unkind, but the way Henderson excised the fruit from its rind left me cold with the distinct impression he would have no problem doing that exact same procedure on a human. I fought the chill, refusing to rub warmth into my arms and legs. That was the sort of response he sought. I could see the truth of it in the flat blue of his eyes. There was no humor, but there was cruel delight. “She stole several years from all of us. You included. Surely, you have --” He paused and masticated the fresh fruit. “-- emotions associated with the loss of four years of your youthful life. Time that you could have spent working on more productive projects.” Did I ever. “I also have emotions, as you so delicately put it, about how you and your associates all pled out on your cases. See, to me, that was the bigger waste of my time and energies. Scratch that. Not just my time but also the government’s, the people’s. Everyone’s time and money.” “That’s the beauty of the system,” he said with a smirk. “Well then, this is the beauty of Mac,” I retorted. He saluted me with his glass. Then he made a grotesque sucking sound through his front teeth as he drank the gin. Moisture beaded in the springy hairs of his mustache. Speaking past repulsion, I said, “You played the system, Henderson. Well done. Is that what you need to hear?” He ran his tongue over his teeth and dabbed at his mustache with a napkin. “For this offense, you have no further fear of prosecution. That leaves me out of all future equations with you. Whatever personal score you have to settle with Mac, you need to take care of with her. I’ve told her, I’ve told the feds, and now I’m telling you. I did my part. There should be nothing else demanded of me.” He nodded. “That’s most true, you did your job. And a marvelous one at that, Charlize.” I wondered if I was supposed to feel flattered. After all, Henderson had been The Outfit’s tax man. He was the one who had files on every last man. I had no doubt he’d kept

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additional files that the feds had never found. I even suspected there were ones Mac didn’t get. Yes. He was complimenting me. It made me even more nervous. “For your toil on the cases, being an expert myself on such things, I very much appreciate the hard work and long hours you put in. The detail you were able to recover was quite phenomenal, actually, and your ability, in particular, of data compilation, I found impressive.” The stew was wonderful. Thick chunks of potato nourished my starving body. My stomach grumbled, eager for the food. Determining the compliment was to flatter and make me more easily pliable, I said, “I hear a but in that sentence.” He nodded. “Not only that.” I swallowed a large bit, patting my chest a bit to help get it down. “But I am, after all, here. So, you’ve chosen to make this personal.” He continued as if my words mattered little. Which, I suppose, in his world, they did. “Those things are well and good, Charlize. I admire them, in fact. Perhaps more so than my associates. Under different circumstance, you would have been a true asset to the organization. I would have loved to recruit and groom you.” His gaze traveled all over my face, lingering on my cleavage. “But that’s neither here nor there. The problem is you chose poorly when you chose Mackenzie as your friend.” I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, and there was no chance in hell I’d have ever worked for The Outfit, but doing my best to follow Aidan’s advice, I remained silent. Never before had I appreciated just how difficult a task that was for me. I folded my hands in my lap and waited, allowing the sharp edge of my nails to bite into the tender flesh of my palms. “As you were told earlier, in our eyes you and Danelle suffer guilt by association. Danelle more so than you, because of her actions in aligning herself with Mackenzie and with her willingness to participate in certain unsavory dealings.” “That’s almost comical, Mr. Henderson, considering that’s coming from, well, you.” I continued eating, realizing it was rude, but it had been so long since I’d eaten. I didn’t know when this new schedule they had me on would afford another opportunity, and the stew was superb. “Understood.” Both his hands splayed open as if my comment had been inevitable. “With our history it’s a given that we each have our own various tainted perceptions of what has transpired these past years, but, you see, today is momentous.” “How so?” The question sounded strained. I really needed to work on delivery. “We’ve called you here for a very special meeting. We’re now offering you a chance to redeem your character.” I choked on an onion. It lodged in my throat not knowing to come up with my disbelief or finish its descent. Redeem my character? When was it besmirched? Quickly, I

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drank a bit of tea to clear the obstruction. “That’s a truly magnanimous offer. Wow! But just what would I be required to do to receive your pardon?” His sculpted brown brow rose a fraction of an inch at my sarcasm, but he did not comment directly, though his tone dripped with impatience. “Your little friend possesses information we require. You will retrieve it for us.” The tension rubberbanded around my forehead gave a massive snap, and I swear I saw lights explode. The golds and reds of the décor held an almost angelic vibrance. Everything seemed to pulse with the surge of the blood in my veins. I pushed the nearly eaten bowl of soup away from me. Suddenly the heavenly aroma made my stomach rebel. I wondered if my companions heard the loud rumble it gave. After a deep breath to quell my nausea, I asked, “Which little friend would that be, Mr. Henderson? The one you have in your custody and want to kill, or the one you want to get only to kill?” The large man whom I’d handed my overcoat to stepped in front of our snug to block us from view of the rest of the room. Not that any of the customers were paying us any mind. The booths had been designed for privacy, and that’s exactly what they afforded. If I were to look, I could peer out from the gap between his waist and his arm; still, he essentially took up the entire space. The confines of our sitting arrangement closed in on me. My claustrophobia clawed at my stomach, my chest, and my mind with frantic fingers. I could not panic but the desire was almost overwhelming. They knew how to play me so well. My nails, securely embedded in my palm, twitched. Instead of releasing my grip, I began playing scales on my palm. Just as I had in junior high with my flute. When I was not allowed to make noise and disturb my father’s social gatherings, I had run the notes on my palm, tapped them out just as if I were practicing on my instrument. “You underestimate us, Charlize, and I find it most disheartening.” No. One of my rules was not to underestimate the enemy. I toyed with the concept of explaining how I believed perhaps it was he who underestimated me, then realized it would hardly further my cause. These men would not take kindly to my correcting them. “Yes, Charlize. We want Mackenzie, but not to kill her --”

Conneries! He couldn’t expect me to believe that nonsense. Perhaps I was not overly versed in the lifestyle of The Outfit, but I knew enough to know exactly in what regard they held Mac. I knew enough to know how they’d already tried to take her out once before by hiring Gabe to clean her. If they could, they’d do it again, but this time they would make certain their scheme did not fail. “-- and, believe it or not, we have no desire to harm your friend, Danelle, either, but at times we’re all forced into situations we find, ah, shall we say, distasteful. This is one of those unfortunate incidences.” “Sir, I have no way to give you Mac, and she most definitely won’t turn herself over to you.” I smiled. She might come for you, but that’s different. I cleared my throat.

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His shoulders squared and he seemed to draw himself up, press out his power and displeasure as he snuffed out his cigar. “Well, then it’s a very good thing that’s not what we seek. Is it not?” The smile slipped from my lips. I watched how he mashed the expensive cigar, grinding it to a pulp with directed force. “You don’t?” “Not today.” “It’s as simple as that?” A half-laugh escaped me in a breathless whisper. “You expect me to believe this? After all I’ve been privy to? I go find the information you want, whatever it is that’s so important you think Danni has; I find that, then I give it to you, and you’ll just turn us both loose. No hard feelings. No fear of future repercussion. And I’m to believe you? On your word?” “Believe what you wish. That’s of little importance to any of us.” That I believed. “However, you will do what you are told, Charlize.” Sadly, I believed that, as well. “And not just because it’s what you’re accustomed to, nor because you have fear or worry. No, you’ll do it because you know we mean exactly what we say. If nothing else trust me when I tell you if you do not come through for us, you’ll never see Danelle alive again. My associates and I never make idle threats. Your understanding that does matter greatly.” He paused, then nodded for effect as if waiting to verify I understood. Inclining my head, I knew items four and six on my list had just flown out the proverbial window. Eight was looking shaky as well. “Are you ready to listen to reason?” I nodded. “We require two photographs and a manila envelope that we believe Danelle had in her possession when she landed in Ireland. You will promptly acquire those articles, return them to us, and she will be released to you. It’s a fair swap.” “Forgive me if I sound naïve, but you’ve already tossed her room at the hotel. How am I supposed to find what your men can’t? They are, after all, trained in this sort of thing.” I said it. I didn’t know it was hard fact, but I didn’t doubt it to be. He offered a small shrug and a genuine smile. “This is what I’ve always like about you, Charlize.” Flattery, would it help? “Thank you. So why?” “You know Danelle better than our men. They have been trained and have experience doing certain things, yes, but we feel this particular situation calls for a more personal approach. You would know where she might ... stash important items, for instance. You’d see anomalies they would not know to look for.”

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“And you’re sure I would?” “Whether I am or not, you’d better be, because you are betting Danelle’s life on it.” I finished my tea wishing for a large glass of water, but even that small amount of warm, brown liquid sloshed in my now unsettled stomach. Water wouldn’t have helped. I picked up a cube of sugar, admired the geometric design, grateful to focus on anything other than Henderson. “Have you asked her?” I asked. It was a dumb question. I know, but it bought me some time. “Indeed, we have.”

Mon Dieu! His tone did not sound good. I ceased oscillating the cube and slipped it into my purse. When I looked up, once again, the flatness of his stare seemed to weigh on my chest as though an anchor pressed me, trapped me, pulled me down into the water I hated. It closed me off from the air. I struggled to breathe. Suddenly I didn’t want to know more about anything at all. I wanted to run to my hotel and hide under the sheet as though I were a child. I wanted to feel warm, safe, protected, even if only in theory. Wake up tomorrow and have this all be one long nightmare manufactured by an over-worked mind. That wasn’t feasible, however. What was left of my family was so small. I loved so few. I could not lose someone else. Not any of them, but especially not her. We sat in silence, our sad party of four; the hum of the happy customers buzzed about us. Laughter. Calls for another round. Life went on and paid us no mind. The smoke from cigars and cigarettes swirled in the air as if in slow motion, pushed by the circulation of people, the opening and closing of doors. I didn’t want to ask, but I had no choice. On this one answer, I was certain, a great deal rested. Two small, shallow breaths, first. It had been minutes since our last words, but I spoke as if no time had passed. “You asked her and?” Henderson straightened his tie; the sapphire in his ring twinkled under the soft lights. “She offered us a very colorful, descriptive riposte, letting us know exactly what we could do with our inquiry.” Church giggles swamped me. Giddy, stupid, church giggles. The kind that threatened to shake my shoulders, to draw attention to our little party. I could not let that happen. I felt my eyes round, and I pursed my lips together. Opening them wide like that allowed more light into my frantic brain. I flinched, but did not duck away. Narrowing my gaze, I refused to give into the threatening hysterics. Water in my eyes made the vision of my seatmates waver and blur. “How very like Danni.” None of the men at the table appeared as impressed as I by Danni’s gall. Other than Henderson, there was no response at all. He tapped his massive ring against his glass. It tinkled. It rapped the fragile etched configuration. The liquid sloshed from side to side with

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small ripples. He’d had at least two drinks. One provided him the chew stick he’d had when I arrived, and now the next while we spoke. So, at least two on the safe, conservative estimate. It appeared the gin had not aided his humor, but it did tell me he was very confident in his position. “Charlize, I realize you’re tired. It’s been a long day for all of us. For you especially, with the many new things thrown at you. Therefore, your lapse is forgivable. Danelle’s was not. She made a terrible and crucial mistake, right there. You can redeem it all, however.” My mouth gaped. Whether from the horror or his audacity, I was uncertain. “We’re hoping you’re more reasonable.”

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Chapter Eight In the cab, I left the window partially down. It was a mental trick I’d learned for long bus rides on school field trips. The breeze, the smell, the ability to see out and not through glass, the feeling that I wasn’t trapped in a closed space with limited options, each of those small things aided in settling my near frantic mind. Simple but effective psychology. It had stayed with me all these years. Leaning closer to the window, I sniffed the hint of ozone lingering in the air, the sweetness of fresh rain. I’d sought that, wanted it to wash what was left of the day away, clearing a coat of the city’s taint from the world and from my mind. The only thing that was left was a shower to scour it from my body. The taxi was comfortable and warm. Cleaner than I expected. The driver left me to my thoughts, which I greatly appreciated, for they were jumbled and confused. In the pit of my gut, I had the burning suspicion that the driver was one of them, but I refused to let it gnaw too deep. It didn’t take many deductive skills for that determination. It was almost too blatant. Like The Outfit wanted me to know. Like they wanted to impress upon me that no matter where I went, I’d never be alone again. There would always be someone, somewhere whether I realized it or not, watching. As if I could forget. At Henderson’s dismissal, the men with the green ties had none too gently escorted me from the soft heat of the pub to the cold freshness of the street outside of The Crown. Flanked, one man on each side, I was guided by firm pressure on my elbows forward into the night. I had my errand set before me and they expected me to go get to it. I had said I wanted to be about business. Well, now they expected me to prove it. Someone, they said, would contact me in exactly sixteen hours to verify my progress.

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The cab had been there idling at the curb as soon as I stepped out from between my escorts. Without additional ado, the car door swung open, and I ducked inside. Whether he was or he wasn’t their man didn’t truly matter, I knew I could count on a safe and swift delivery to the hotel. Therefore, I relaxed a bit, enjoyed the silence, the heater, the scenery, and my thoughts. Before I left the pub, Henderson reminded me that the tenuous association of ours needed a good faith reminder. “In case you’re experiencing any confusion about the truth of what I’ve told you this evening, the danger you and your little friend are in, or the seriousness of this situation, I have something I would like to share with you. Please. Do listen closely. I’d hate for you to miss even the slightest detail.” He produced a small recording device from his jacket and hit play. “I will not help you!” My heart leapt at the sound of Danni’s voice. Muted and low, it sounded slurred, as if her mouth was full of cotton or if she were perhaps drugged. Her l’s rolled a beat longer than usual. The lilt of her voice was more pronounced, but I didn’t worry overly much about that. During times of stress, her brogue appeared more strongly. She sounded exhausted, but not defeated. I could shut my eyes and see the spark in her sapphire gaze; almost feel her defiance. So I did. It strengthened me. She wasn’t even there and still she comforted me with only the vibrancy of her voice. I felt weak. In the distance, I heard what sounded like a gun cock, and I silently willed Danni to acquiesce. Please, I prayed. Tell them what they want. Now is not the time to be obstinate.

Mac is strong enough, smart enough, she can find something else to use for her protection. For the love of God, she knows people! It needn’t be your life. Don’t risk it! I knew it was a foolish prayer. One offered too late and to the wrong person. “Do it,” Danni demanded of her abductors. “I dare you. Do you have any idea the kind of hell that will rain down on your heads once the DCU discover a member of the international media executed? A Yank, no less. You think Mac caused you damage. Just wait and see what this does to your precious organization. It will be an international incident! Do it!” The sickly sweet voice of the man with whom I’d spoken on the telephone began talking. “Danelle, be reasonable. This is not much we ask of you. It’s paperwork, a minor detail. Deliver it, and you’re free to go.” Not for the first time, I wracked my memory for his face. He was one of The Outfit, but which one? With my eyes closed, I pictured the courtroom. My gaze slid around, but I saw only suits, haircuts, backs of heads. I focused harder and pictured the judge, the feds, the balding bailiff. The tables full of my research sat there, bound and useless in my memory, but I could

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not pull one face. I knew them all. I knew so much about them. Why couldn’t I picture the bastard’s face? “Reasonable?” Danni scoffed, jerking my attention back to the recording. My eyes flew open, and I started at the small black box in Henderson’s grasp. “With such reasonable men?” My thoughts exactly! “What a joke that is. Wait until I tell my friends at the paper,” Danni scoffed. There was a scuffle of some sort in the background and a loud huff. That last was Danni’s. I’d heard it enough times over the years to recognize. I didn’t know if Danni had been knocked down, or if she sank of her own accord. Or ... had she been hit? I bit down on the inside of my lower lip until I tasted the metallic sting of blood. “Yes, Danelle. Reasonable.” The man sounded agitated. “It’s truly not too much to ask for. Are you willing to listen now? Or must we further convince you? We tire of these conversations.” Silence. It broke my heart not knowing if she chose not to answer or if she couldn’t. Where was she? The voices echoed a bit, so no carpeting, I’d wager. Was it cold? Was she dry? How many of these “conversations” had they had? “Good. I see we’re finally beginning to understand one another. What we want is paperwork, photos, keepsakes. You know? The ones you stole from our offices?” “She didn’t steal them,” I interjected. The words were out of my mouth before I realized I’d spoken them aloud. Henderson, with great patience, depressed the stop button. “It matters little to us whether it was she, herself, who entered the premises and took our belongs. The end result is the same. I see that you’re distressed, Charlize. It has been a full day. Would you prefer to not hear the rest of this?” He gestured with the recorder by hefting it a bit higher into the air. Prefer to hear it and need to were two very different answers. “I’m fine.” Liar. “Please, continue.” Satisfied, Henderson turned it back on. “Breaking and entering, just what has the media come to these days?” the man in the recording mused. His voice held the practiced eloquence of a southern lawyer addressing the jury. “These items have no worth to anyone but us, and we want them back. Every last item. The originals. Not facsimiles, and there are to be no duplicates anywhere. Am I clear? Because if, at any time, we discover there are additional copies floating about we will know where they originated from.”

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Danni chuckled. It sounded as though even the small sound caused her great pain. At the weak laugh, a muscle under Henderson’s right eye began to twitch, as did the right side of his mustache. His clasp on the recorder tightened so much so his nails morphed from pale pink to deep red fringed with white crescent moons just below his nails. I fought the urge to rip the recorder out of Henderson’s manicured fingers and hold it, cradle it gently. Not let him crush it, which somehow, in my mind, seemed as though he were hurting Danni with the pressure exerted on the tiny device. I wanted to offer her comfort the only way I was able. It wouldn’t help. He could destroy the recorder, and it affected nothing. Well, beyond my imagination and psyche that is. That it affected. Logic dictated no action was the best action. I knew it, still the battle raged in me, and what a difficult battle it was. With every recorded noise, with every cough, shuffle of the feet, and demand made on Danni, I felt my resolve slip. I placed both my hands between my thighs, gripping the inseam of my slacks and holding on for dear life. I didn’t know how I could continue to play this cool. If one would consider what I’d done so far “cool.” My lip trembled and the smoke of the bar stung my dry eyes. I swallowed. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I was scared. Scared speechless and that was truly a first in my life. There had to be clues to where she was held in that recording. If only I could remember which member of The Outfit possessed that voice. I could see his suit on opening day. It was a Brisco’s Limited. All the blood drained from my head as I realized who had Danni. Lippencot. My hands trembled. He was the one who’d hired Gabe into The Outfit. He was the member who had nearly killed Bobby. He had no qualms whatsoever about using the “whatever it takes” method to gain his ends. I struggled to breathe, but the air didn’t want to come. Henderson smiled. Was Lippencot why I’d not seen Bobby yet? No. No. They would have threatened me with that as well if they knew of his whereabouts. Lippencot’s voice fairly oozed from the recording. “Your time grows thin, Danelle. Help us help you.” “Like how your help put me down here?” She moved around. “The Hostile Hilton, isn’t that what your men call it? That was a great help and as much as I appreciate your offer, I think not.”

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“Danelle. One way or the other we will recover the mementos you and Mackenzie snatched from us. If you help us, life will be more pleasant. If we have to find the items ourselves? Well. You’ll serve no further function, and we’ll still recover them.” Scuffling. Heavy breathing. Finally, in a cracked voice Danni found a slew of expletives and sailor-talk the likes I’d never heard. Some were in English, some weren’t. She wasn’t even nearing finished when Henderson shut off the device. Back in the cab, we bounced over a pothole. It jostled me to reality. Sixteen hours wasn’t long at all. My mind raced with possibilities, but I forced a serene blankness. I counted Volvos, Jaguars, and Audis. I counted blonde women, redheads, brunettes. I counted buildings with door attendants, and the ones with bars on the windows. Slowly, numbers took the place of confusion. Gone were the emotions, the tangled feelings, the overwhelming helplessness. Instead, I felt calm and as though I could finally do as Mac instructed. Examined one thought at a time.

Remove all emotion. I needed to remember that. Fact. A member of The Outfit would contact me at the hotel, check the status of my progress, then at that time determine what the next course of action would be. Fact. I knew Danni’s hotel. It was a place to start. Fact. It was The Outfit, not just Henderson, who was involved. Lippencot was mixed up in the assortment, and I’d no doubt Sorrenson was near. Fact. I knew The Outfit did indeed have Danni or had had Danni in their possession at one time. She had been alive and full of all the spit and vinegar I love. Fact. I’d do what it took to get her back. Reasonable? It was enough to make me laugh. Henderson was hoping I was more reasonable than Danni. For that matter, I was certain they all were. Under normal business circumstances, sure, I was reasonable. I was predictable, even. I was the safe bet to lay money on in a case of consistency, but there wasn’t anything normal about this situation. In a non-professional setting where my family’s lives were risked, where everything I had worked and struggled for was at stake, I wasn’t any more reasonable than Danni had been on that tape. Not really. Not down deep where it mattered. There was a crucial difference between Danni and me, however. Danni was a bit more vocal and a bit braver than I. She thought she was risking only her life by her defiance. I knew the truth. I risked both of ours, not to mention Bobby’s, wherever he was.

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The cab squeaked to a halt in the curved drive. I offered to pay the taxi driver, but he waved me off, even for a tip, confirming my belief that he was indeed involved. I signaled my thanks and got out of the vehicle. There it was. The Europa. Beautiful. Stately. The hotel was located in central Belfast right in the thick of things. I knew a few things about the historic hotel. It had the dubious distinction of being the most bombed hotel in Belfast, but that reputation came from back in the day when the Unionist headquarters were right next door. Times had changed. Belfast had changed. The Europa was located within walking distance of Belfast City Hall, Ulster Museum, and the Botanical Gardens. I quickly glanced around, finding my surroundings captivating. Definitely a place I would have liked to visit during more pleasurable circumstances, the hotel was massive and gorgeous, lit up with a bluish hue reminiscent of a swimming pool under dark skies. The towering glass glowed, offering me the illusion of hope. I strode toward that hope. It looked so pure, so beautiful. I could almost smell the clean linens, the bitter sting of disinfectant lingering in the air; feel the warm water of a shower pelting my skin, the steam fogging up the private room, lifting away the putrescence of the day. Opening my purse in the pursuit of credit cards and ID, the metal of my cell phone gleamed under the soft lighting and my step faltered. The small telecommunications device beckoned. I paid extra to have international calling capabilities. I could phone someone now, but whom? Why? To what end? I was already at the hotel. I would have a larger bargaining position if I did go through Danni’s belongings and saw what I could find before I attempted anything else. If I could get a glimpse of this paperwork, maybe I could discover why it was so important. No. For the time being, I would play this exactly the way Aidan advised. The way Mac would have done. I’d play it smart. It was no different than backgammon. I’d use my mind and foresee their next move. Or hope to God to try! It surprised me, but more and more during this hellacious journey of mine I’d found I wished I knew Mac better. Not her commanding tone. That I knew. Not her general distrust. That I thought I knew and now perhaps understood. No, the person. I didn’t know her. Mackenzie Rose Harmon-Zumbrenen. Only child to the deceased Seamus Harmon. Former employee of The Outfit -- both father and daughter. He bought in. She was born in. I toyed with the phone. Flipped it open. Powered it on. The vibration needled my palm. The LCD light nearly matched the illumination in the hotel windows. People assumed Mac and I knew each other well, that we were friends, but I’d really gotten to spend very little time with or understand this woman I’d helped.

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Mac had saved my life, and I felt I owed her. A debt I’d paid by helping with the case against The Outfit. We’d had to talk about files, paperwork, details for my research, and occasionally she wanted a briefing on how I felt things were going, but I’d carefully remained distant in our dealings. I guess I believed that her colorful background would somehow taint my future in law. I knew the feds and my bosses all watched our interaction with wary reserve. They tolerated it because it was a means to a greater end. The display light faded. Was I so shallow that I’d written her off as the same type of person as Henderson? As Lippencot? I swallowed hard at the truth of the matter. It was far worse than lumping her in their category. My hand fluttered over my stomach as I walked. I’d had no compassion for her, for her circumstance. Mac paid dearly for the sin of her father. First, she watched him murdered right before her very eyes. Her birthday, Johansen walked right up to her and her father. They were on a beach where they often went, she and her father, for special occasions. Mac took me there once. It was calm and peaceful. Johansen had just walked right up and killed him there, in front of her. I could not have withstood the shock. I’d have lost it. Mental breakdown, right then and there, but she hadn’t. Mac had managed to pull it together and as always somehow carried on. I wasn’t there that horrid day, I didn’t know them back then, but the scene suddenly played over and over in my mind with vivid detail. The cell phone slipped from my grasp, crashed to the concrete. The small flip-phone bounced itself open. The battery slid loose. I stooped down to retrieve it, looking around as I did. Aidan had said they’d murder Danni in front of me to prove a point. If they’d done it once, and they had, I had no reason to believe it would not happen again. I didn’t take time to reassemble the phone. I tossed both the phone and the battery into my purse, clipped it shut, and did my best to smooth some semblance of order into my clothing. This was a fine establishment. I needed to look the part. After a deep breath, I brushed hair back from my face, adjusted the hold I had on my carry-on and purse. There was nothing I could do about the mistakes of my past. Truthfully, not much I could do in the line of my future other than worry. Mother always said worry never got anyone anywhere. All I had was the present. First her father, then, given the choice of dying as well or working for The Outfit, an eighteen-year-old child had become mired in a world of pain, deceit, and twisted dealings so convoluted even those involved became confused at times. I squared my shoulders. I was big enough to admit it, I’d judged Mac unfairly -- about many things. I just hoped we all lived long enough for me to apologize. As I strode past the tall columns into the busy hotel lobby, I, for the first time, truly appreciated the horrors of the world in which Mackenzie Harmon had matured.

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Friendly smiles greeted me everywhere as I walked past the night guard, business people, traveling students, and couples on vacation right up to the reservations desk. The massive chandelier in the center of reception drew my gaze. A perfect circle, a couch of similar design, was stationed just beneath. People even sat there! The warm colors decorating the room beckoned. I could feel at home in this environment, I decided. It was classy yet homey, cozy, yet spacious. For the first time in hours, I felt safe. “Cheers!” echoed about the spacious lobby as strangers offered hellos in passing in and out of the hotel nightclub. Rather happening for so late at night, I thought as I nodded my hellos back to a couple passing by. “Cheers and good evenin’. Welcome to the Europa. Is there something I can be gettin’ for you?” The small woman behind the gleaming counter was adorable. She couldn’t have been an inch over five feet tall and that in heels. Her wild brown hair escaped her stylish chignon. Her hazel eyes sparkled. The freckles across her pert little nose crinkled with her broad smile, and I couldn’t help but return her welcome. “Evening.” I rested my carry-on near my feet and deposited my purse on the counter. “My name is Charlize Deseu, and I believe you have a reservation for me.” Her head shook a little as she ran through her files. Her smile did not falter, nor did the cheeriness is her voice waver. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the name doesn’t sound familiar, but let me look here. When did you make the reservation?” Mac had taken care of all of this. I scowled. “I can’t remember exactly. Are you certain it’s not there? I’m to let room nine-twelve. It should all be arranged.” Her brow drew together. “You’ve even a particular room you’ll be wantin’ then? I don’t see your name in my files, but let me check the availability on nine-twelve.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard, then stopped. Her gaze slowly rose to mine. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that room’s already taken. Can I interest you in another, at least until we sort this out?” Fighting my growing concern, inspiration struck. “I have a bit of an odd question, but if you’ll humor me please. Were you working earlier this evening?” “Aye.” She nodded. “I’ve been on shift since eight.” “Did you happen see who booked the room?” She looked down at the information displayed on her computer screen. A hint of the disarming smile returned. “Em. Aye. He caught my eye, probably every girl in here. He was a handsome one, that.” Relief washed over me. Why hadn’t I thought of the possibility before? It made perfect sense. I held my hand out in the air a few inches above my head. “Was he about this tall? Great taste in clothing? Fantastic smile? Really good-looking?” She nodded. “Aye. All that and then some.”

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“He’s mine!” Whew! What a relief. Bobby! Of course, he’d come here when he couldn’t find me at the airport. He’d have waited there for me only so long. This was the next logical place for him to look. “We got separated at the airport. My flight was delayed.” She regarded me. “I can use the house phone. Let him know I finally made it. He should be expecting me. Although it’s rather late. He might be asleep.” Again, she looked down, toggled through some screens I couldn’t see. I assumed to verify whether or not the guest had indicated if he were awaiting the arrival of another guest. When she didn’t immediately say anything, I asked, “Is there a manager on duty this evening? I know it’s late, but I’m in Ireland on a family matter I’d like to see taken care of as soon as possible. A former guest, Danelle Nolan, left several belongings here, when she rented a room. The room. Nine-twelve. As next-of-kin, I’m here to claim them.” All humor left her expression and something I’d describe as guardedness clouded her brilliant eyes. She wet her lips and nodded. “One moment, please. I’ll return shortly.” Then she hurried off. Within moments she and a very tall, lanky, serious-looking man with a prominent forehead emerged from around a corner concealed by a massive fern. She pointed at me as she whispered to him. “Right,” he said. “Thank you, Ana. Appreciate your help.” The girl looked again at me, then returned to her station at the desk. “Em. You’d be Miss Deseu?” the manager asked. I nodded and offered my hand. “Thank you for seeing me. I know it’s terribly late.” He shook it. “I’m Ronal Everson. Pleasure to meet you.” “And you.” “Right.” He rubbed his hands together, then shoved them deep into his pockets. “I received your fax.” Damn. Mac was good. “Then you have all you need? That’s a relief. And you have the bags available? You can release them to me now?” He smiled. It was weak and obviously strained. “Em. Aye. Generally speaking. If you’d be so kind as to follow me to my office, we can verify your signature, do a wee bit of paperwork. Then I’ll release Miss Nolan’s luggage and have it brought up to your room in no time at’ll.”

*****

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“That was the weirdest twenty minutes of my life,” I muttered as I yawned and stepped off the elevator. “And I’ve had some weird ones of late.” Mr. Everson had been incredibly helpful, but detail oriented. More so than I’d normally expect and under the circumstances, that made me worry. He checked my drivers license, my passport, made me sign a stack of release waivers, and an odd little report that he said would be handed over to the police since Danni was officially a missing person. I’d bit my tongue rather than comment, but I had to remember to ask Mac about that particular piece of data. I seriously doubted The Outfit sloppy enough to allow Danni’s name to leak like that. If she, as a media personality, were recognized as a missing person, there would surely be an investigation. Had there been one, what had happened? The Outfit would not show their faces if there were one still ongoing. Suspicious, I’d signed the papers he presented, asking for copies of each and every paper I’d signed. I’d also been careful that there were no carbon sheets tucked in between, hidden. Though I’d read every paper, I’d not seen anything untoward, so I said nothing and cooperated with false gaiety. If he thought anything off, it could be attributed to the late hour and jet lag. I was tired and didn’t want to think about anything past a hot shower, a good bed, a few precious hours of sleep, then first thing in the morning going through the luggage that Mr. Everson guaranteed me he would have sent up to my room within the half hour. When he handed me a key to room nine-twelve, he’d even been so kind as to tell me my personal luggage had been delivered from the airport. He’d send that up as well. I offered a prayer of thanksgiving. While I had the necessities in my carry-on, just the idea of having my own belongings back in my possession made me all warm and fuzzy. Make up. Pajamas. Fresh clothing! I sighed. Room nine-eight, nine-ten. A half hour? Nine-twelve. That was plenty of time to shower, get into my jammies, and catch up with Bobby.

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Chapter Nine I’d half-expected the key not to work and that I’d have to knock but the key slid in, the lock clicked, and the door slipped open. The air conditioner hummed, keeping the room a steady chilled but comfortable temperature. “Hello,” I called out as I pushed into the brightly lit room. Looked like Bobby had every light in the room turned on. “Dang, Bobby. How many lights do you need?” Barely contained excitement evidenced itself in my cheery tone and suddenly light step. I felt almost giddy as I examined the nice little room. The bed, though turned down, was empty. Non-threatening contact. I sighed. The bathroom door banged. “It’s about bloody time, Danelle. I’m knackered.” I spun on my heel, wavered a bit on the precarious point of the shoe, then evened out only by the blessed counter-balance of the carry-on that had slipped nearly to my fingertips. “Danelle?” It was nearly a shout. One, from confusion. Two, from statement. And three, and not nearly the least, total surprise. “Charlie!” My mouth didn’t know whether to be wet or dry. It seemed to choose an odd half-half mixture. I swallowed hard, attempting to even it out. Standing before me was the most glorious vision a girl living on borrowed time could ever hope to see, short of Bobby that is. Brock, my ultra sexy gentleman seat-mate from the airplane. The man I was supposed to have continued my flight with, then had dinner and drinks with. Laugh with, get his number, maybe a kiss, maybe more, that man. The man to whom I’d given the cold shoulder and then, to get rid of him, told I was meeting another man! That gorgeous man whom I never thought I’d see again stood in the middle of my hotel room dripping wet, wrapped only in a hotel towel. His massive form, though lit with all the blaring lights of the main room, was silhouetted with rather a haloed appearance as steam

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rolled out of the bathroom behind him. The moist heat crept toward my skin. If only I could vaporize into that very mist. Wait! His hotel room? My hotel room. “Brock?” My stomach did tiny flips when I said his name. “Aye. What are you doing here, Charlie? This is my room. How’d you find me? Why did you find me?” The thick brogue thrilled me. I needed that. He sounded so like Danni. Not in the real sense, but their tone, their inflection, the lyrical roll of their words. Against my wishes, I blinked. One long and slow to make certain I wasn’t already fast asleep somewhere in Belfast riding around in the back of a warm cab. Then the next few in rapid succession, hoping to make myself focus on anything other than the glorious tight muscles of his abdomen, slick, and wet, shining in the light from four different light sconces. My heart slammed in my chest and the moist heat that had reached my skin permeated. It slid through every last nerve ending in my body. All the way down to the tips of my very tired toes. “Charlie?” The rich timbre of his voice lulled me. Mesmerized, I watched the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed out my name. I knew he’d asked me a question but it took me a moment to snap out of it. Trying to cover my physical reaction, I scratched my head. “Did you just call me Danni?” He’d begun stepping my direction, toward me, his hands out, but he halted. “I called out to Danelle, to be precise. Not Danni. What do you know of her?” “No. No!” I shook my head. “What do you know of her? Why are you in her room?” Pushing the hotel door shut until I heard the satisfactory click, ensuring Brock could not shoot past me and out into the hall before I had a chance to discover some answers, I spoke in a soft, still voice, “Tell me how you know her.” His aqua gaze, instantly weary, went to my hand, still resting on the door, then dropped down to his towel as if he weighed his options. “How’d you get in my room? Answer me that, first.” I shrugged off the question. “I told them you were my man and you were expecting me.”

Mon Dieu, and I had! The reality of what I told them slammed into me. My hands were clammy. I quickly secured the locks on the door, then wiped my hand on the front of my slacks. “Of course ye did. A beautiful girl claims something, anything, she can get what she wants.” In disbelief, he sank onto the edge of the large king-sized bed. He’d called me beautiful. The side of the bed that I always sleep on. The right side. The crisp white sheets I’d envisioned were there. Just like in my mind. But the man sitting there had definitely not

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been part of my vision. Another one perhaps, but not at all what I’d been counting on when I arrived. Wait, had he just called me spoiled? “Are you following me, Charlie?” “No!” Brock raked a hand through his thick, black hair. Tiny beads of moisture trickled free down his neck, along his collarbone. “I can’t believe this. Earlier today, I’d have given most anything to bring you home with me, but to find you here, in her room. It’s just odd.” He mostly mumbled as if talking to himself. He thought it odd! Ha! Welcome to my day. “Coming to meet an old friend, my arse. What a load of bull that was.” “I answered your question, now answer me mine.” For effect, I dropped both my carryon and purse onto the foldout luggage rack to my right with a thud. He stared at the carpet so long, I wanted to peek between his heavily muscled thighs and see what he was hiding in the weave. Finally, he said, “Danelle is my friend.” “No, she’s not,” I countered before he could continue. I stepped further into the room, blocking the small entryway with my body, not that he was actually going anywhere, but in case. His head snapped up. “I beg your pardon? She is too.” I knew her friends, most of them anyway, and I certainly didn’t know anything about a Brock. I’d have remembered! Hell, I’d have begged an introduction. “We’ve been friends for ages.” He rubbed his hands across his chest drawing my gaze to his long fingers, to the rigid plane of the sculpted muscles of his pecs. It wasn’t only my heart pounding. With each movement he made, with each new direction of his hand, my fingers itched to go where his were, my lips craved to taste him. I scrubbed my hand across my face, trying to clear away my misplaced thoughts. It wasn’t working. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, twisted it, knotted it. His tone had been so genuine. That was hard to fake. He knew her all right. With growing unease, I reached for my purse and pulled out my lists. My words came out barely a whisper. “What’s your real name?” “Brock Halen O’Bannon.” I felt queasy. BH O’Bannon. I didn’t know if I wanted to hug him or kill Danni for never explaining just who this BH O’Bannon of her youth was. “This,” he asked, “this is your friend you came to ‘meet’?” Guiltily, I nodded. He waited, expecting more, I presumed. “You’re BH?”

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“Aye. Danni called me that to annoy me. Little twit knew how I hated it when the sisters called me by both my first and middle. My Christian name, they said.” He paused, a small smile curving his lips. “But I’d forgive Danni most anything, and she knew it.” I placed my hands on my hips and stretched, working my stiff back from side to side. Anything to not focus on him. I looked at the scarce decorations in the room. Attractive, functional, but not elaborate. The room was tastefully decorated. Two overstuffed chairs and a coffee table were arranged near a large picture window. There was an entertainment console, a desk, and the king-sized bed. “She also liked BH because then her family had no idea whether I was male or female.” He coughed. “Secrets. They’re everywhere.” That caught my attention and brought it back to him. Brock put his hands up in the air. “It’s what she wanted. It’s what she got, just like everything else.” He was right. That was a particular skill Danni had. She could get away with anything. She’d tilt her pretty little head to the side, her long red curls would spill over her shoulder, and she’d bat her lashes -- no one could withstand The Look. Brock stood up, and for a split second I wished his towel would fall off then alternately thanked the heavens it didn’t. Instead, I appreciated his skillful knot tying. “You’re her friend. You were coming here to meet her, so then you know where she is?”

Don’t trust anyone, my mind screamed. Though a tiny voice whispered, There are always exceptions. I licked my lips. They were dry, and I wished I’d reapplied my lipstick recently. “In a manner of speaking.” “In a manner? What a totally crap answer that is.” He snorted. “Explain yourself this instant.” “I know who she’s with.” He snatched his woolen overcoat from the back of a chair, slung it over his broad shoulders. “Grand. Let’s go then. You can explain the rest on the way.” With a hesitant finger I pointed to his attire, or lack thereof, then ran a hand through my hair until it came to the haphazard knot. I took it out and shook my head, letting my hair cascade free down my back, over my shoulders. The air, I told myself, had felt too cool with it up, my neck exposed. Though the truth was twofold, neither reason being cold. With my hair up I felt vulnerable and two, I needed to be busy. “Not like that, you’re not. Not at this hour, and well,” I stuttered, trying to reconcile the image of him running about Belfast in a small, white towel. Might have been a hand towel for all it covered. “Just no in general.” He dropped the towel, and I stumbled backward to lean against the door, thankful for the support. Nope, cool was totally out of the picture. I’m sure someone more worldly than I

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would have known what to do in that particular situation, the one where a handsome stranger walks naked in the hotel room, but not me. What did I do? I stared. I gawked like a fool. The man was beyond beautiful. Long fluid lines of toned muscle stretched from the flat planes of his chest and stomach down his thighs, turning into sculpted calves that screamed exercise. The short hairs on my neck stood on end and my nipples tautened. Two words I had not thought of since college came to mind. Body shots. All too quickly, he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on. His hands in the air, he asked, “Now?” “I said no.” I fingered my lips, the image of his tight buns lingering in my mind. The look with the faded jeans, low slung, was almost as erotic as him in the towel. His package sat framed in the pelvic vee. I tore my gaze away, dropped my hands to my sides, forced conviction in my voice. “And, Brock, I mean it. No.” A knock came at the door. Distrust lit the aqua depths of his eyes. “Who’s that?” Brock started to push past me but there really wasn’t enough room. All I had to do was turn and I impeded his path. “You’re havin’ a party at this hour? It sure as hell wasn’t with me. Or was that little bit on the plane just a pleasant distraction? A little play-acting, perhaps. Something to keep your mind off flying?” Before I could respond, a muffled “luggage delivery” sounded on the other side of the door. “Happy now?” Justified, I asked though I needn’t have. From the expression on Brock’s face I could tell he was not. I opened the door. “Ms. Deseu?” The young boy couldn’t have been much over eighteen. His gaze darted from Brock to me and then back again. He seemed very uncomfortable. “Yes.” “Mr. Everson sent me with your luggage.” “This is it?” There wasn’t very much. “Em. Aye.” Brock scooted around me and said, “I’ll take those.” His large hands slipped into the extended plastic pulls, and he tugged my massive suitcase into the room with a grunt. It banged against the wall with a scrape as the zippers collided with the wallpaper.

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I ran my tongue across my teeth as I looked past the boy to Danni’s bag. It was her standard “kit.” I had mine. She had hers. Though I understood the mentality, I’d never get how she could travel with so little. Her set was a two-piece ensemble. Scarlet red with silver nameplates on them, both her cases could fit inside my one with room to spare. Gingerly taking the handle, I accepted the luggage. Brock, who was again at my elbow, in my space, smelling roughly of sexual appeal, offered the kid a tip and ushered me back into our room. “How’d you manage to swing that?” he asked as soon as the door snapped shut. “What?” He nodded at the bags. “Her bags. How’d you get them?” For a moment I debated saying they were all mine. He tapped his foot. “Don’t even think about lying to me. Not only are the name badges clearly labeled ...” He pointed. “That’s not your style.” What would he know of my style? “I’m her next of kin.” “Sweet Mother of God! She is dead.” He dropped to his knees. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” I ran to his side. “She’d not dead. Why would you say she’s dead? Don’t ever say she’s dead.” His tortured gaze matched mine. “You said next of kin.” I patted his shoulder feeling at odds with reciprocating the comforting action he’d given me on the plane. “I was only trying to ...” What was I trying to do? I was trying to keep her alive, that’s what, but how could I tell him that. “How’d you get her room? I had a special reservation for it.” He switched his position, still leery, but more open. He leaned back against the edge of the bed and pulled his legs up, resting his forearms across them. “I told them the reservation was mine.” “It was under my name.” He picked a piece of balled carpet off his knee. “I told them that was an error, that you were my secretary and had probably used your name by mistake. The woman at reception was very helpful.” “I’ll bet she was.” Brock glanced up at my tone. “I mean, you comment about what a woman can get away with! Give an attractive man a business card and see what he can do.” He grinned. “Touché.” I slumped to my rump and tucked my legs in Indian style. “Look, can we stop this. If you’re BH O’Bannon, as you claim ...” I held my hand up. “And I don’t doubt that you are.

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You’re one of the few people in the world who might be able to help me. Can we just talk about this?” “If you’ll tell me what this is.” If I’d tell him. I rubbed my eyes and yawned. From the corner of my eye I looked longingly at the bathroom where remnants of steam still lingered in the air. That would have to wait. “Well?” My lists lay crumpled on the floor near us. Rule number three glared up at me. Don’t share more than you mean to. Good reminder. Start with basics. Discover his knowledge. “When did you and Danni last speak?” “She sent me an e-mail a little over two weeks ago.” About the time she left for Ireland. “And what did she say?” “She told me she was coming here.” I shifted minutely, slipping the lists under my thigh. “And you didn’t find that odd, knowing her as well as you do?” He shrugged. “Danni’s always been independent. She does what she wants to do, when she wants to do it. She said she was hot on the trail of a new story.” “That’s it?” Not much to go on, and if he were her contact, the one she wanted to question when she arrived, wouldn’t she have said something else? “She hoped we’d have dinner.” “And?” “And she called from the airport, told me her hotel, and we set up for dinner the next night. When she didn’t show, I started calling and coming. Then three days were past and no one knew anything at all. I had to go to America to close the deal I told you about.” I nodded. “I still hadn’t heard anything when I returned, so I thought the best thing to do was take the room so if, no, when she came back, she’d have somewhere to go.” A small carafe of water sat on the end table. I pointed at it. “Do you mind?” He shook his head. I poured a small tumbler full of water. I swished it around in my mouth, then swallowed. “I am her next of kin. We met --” “I know who you are.” That shocked me. “What? Oh, you mean from the plane?” “The name didn’t ring a bell, at first. I mean I wasn’t looking to meet someone I knew on the plane. I was making conversation with a beautiful woman who was scared of flying.” Fair enough, if I believed in coincidence, but things had been pretty crazy.

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“I wasn’t thinking about Danni when I met you.” Neither was I, but I should have been. My thoughts shouldn’t have been rambling down Libido Lane. They should have been focused on my task at hand. If I’d been paying attention maybe I would have seen that blonde man with the colorful tattoos on my first flight. Had Aidan been there? My memory of the entire flight was hazy. Beyond knowing I did get out of my assigned seat and that I sidled up to Brock like a two-bit floozy, I didn’t remember much. “Hey!” He snapped his fingers, drawing my attention, which was a good thing because my mind was gone again. “Sorry.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose, making my eyes tear. “I’m exhausted. If I take a shower will you be here when I get out?” “I’m not going anywhere until I find out where Danni is.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do what you must.” “Fantastic. See you in ten minutes.”

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Chapter Ten The cold tiles felt marvelous underneath my forehead. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. Large, beige squares adorned the room, trimmed by smaller forest green ones as an accent. The cool texture set off by the heat of the room made for the perfect combination. My ten minutes were surely up, but I couldn’t convince my body it was time to get out of the shower. The hot water pounded against my skin in a massaging pulse and felt good, almost enough to keep me from my handsome guest. Almost. For a moment I gave into the compulsion of picturing Brock Halen O’Bannon waiting for me in the big king-sized bed, the covers turned down, and an inviting smile on his face. He’d say my name. The slash of his dark brow arching in question at why I still stood at the bathroom door and was not already in that beautiful bed with him. Just the thought caused my pulse to quicken. Water could be shut off but apparently my hormones couldn’t. Nor could my brain, which needed answers so it could rest. Overwrought and drained, my mind ran in empty circles. One question bled into the other with no resolution. Maybe Brock would be asleep. Not that that would truly help anything. If he were, it would just postpone the conversation that needed to take place. Still, I didn’t know if I could rely upon my instincts. They said to trust him. That Mr. O’Bannon’s being in my room was a Godsend, but my instincts had been wrong before. I turned the water off and stepped out of the tub onto the ultra soft bathmat. A compact little room. My lavatory at home was at least four times as large. Still, it had all the necessities and was sparkly clean. And the lighting was superb. I didn’t even bother to wipe off the foggy mirror as I brushed my teeth. I didn’t want to know the extent of the day’s damage. Just the thought of the dark circles under my eyes was

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enough to make me hope at least some of the blazing lights had been turned off. Preferably all of them, but if that were the case, I’d be too tempted to just slide into the huge bed, beg off all conversation until the morning. Even skip looking in the bags for the documentation. Not that I thought for a moment that Danni would have placed them in there. Too obvious. Then again, that could be why she’d do it. Glad I’d packed my conventional cotton pajamas instead of my silk nightie, I grabbed a comb and went to face Brock. As soon as I opened the door, I knew I was too late and sleep wasn’t an option. Brock sat on the floor, busily sorting through Danni’s belongings, placing them in even stacks. Jeans here. Sweaters there. Underthings and toiletries made up another perfectly balanced tower. Lovingly, the clothes remained folded, as though he didn’t want to disturb her privacy too greatly. With his stooped shoulders, delicate touch, and sad expression he appeared scared and dismayed. Despite his size and manly appeal, the lost look in his light eyes gave the impression of a young child, vulnerable. He didn’t look up from his work. “It’s foolish, I know, but somehow I thought there would be a note or something.” He spoke softly, the sound so disheartened I wanted to comfort him. How reversed was that? I needed comfort, desperately. I needed the holding, the reassurance that everything would turn out all right, but suddenly my sadness and my loss seemed insignificant. I sank onto the bed careful to keep distance between us, approach him like I would a caged animal. Get close, but not too close. I wanted information, not to scare him off or startle him into silence. Casual. Running the comb through the tangled length of my hair, I asked, “What did you think it would say, if you found one?” He shrugged. “I’m not really sure. Location. Last known contact. Something along those lines, I suppose. If that failed a number to call or maybe even a name of who she’d come ta see.” Those things would definitely be helpful. “You want to give it a look? You know more about her now than I do.” I wanted to and I would, but not then. It seemed a simple act, but I wanted privacy when I touched her things. With all my heart I wanted her back alive, but if I failed and I couldn’t get Danni back these were the last things she would have touched. It was special. He held up a legal yellow note pad, waved it in the air. The pages feathered out in a slow arch. “She’s got four of these in here. Seven pens.” He tossed the pad into another pile. “Does she not use a laptop, like everyone else?” “You said you know who I am.” I struggled to find my voice. The one I heard was almost hoarse. It sounded like a stranger speaking even though I felt the words coming from my own lips. I tossed the comb on the desk. “What do you know?”

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He’d gotten himself a bottled soda while I showered. I had no idea where from. He twisted off the cap and took a long gulp. I watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “You and Danni were sorority sisters, best friends, all that giggly girlie stuff.” “Family stuff,” I corrected. He inclined his head. “Aye. Family. Danni had none of that after she left Ireland. Until you that is.” “You know what I do?” “Aye. You’re a tax attorney, who, em, recently fell in with a bad element, which is where Danni got the lead for her latest jaw-dropping story.” Maybe Brock knew more than I did. That would be brilliant! If he’d share that information, even better. “Did she perhaps tell you any details on what that story was about?” He nodded and covered a yawn with his hand. “Aye. She said it was about The Outfit. An organized crime syndicate of some sort.” Some sort of organized crime syndicate? It seemed such an understatement. When he said it, it almost sounded like a joke. But they weren’t a joke. This wasn’t a nightmare. “When we spoke, she didn’t really go into detail about them in particular, said it could be dangerous. For her or for me, she didn’t specify. Besides, it’s not like I really need to know that much about a crime group in the States.” I cringed at his innocence. Is that how Mac and Bobby felt when we spoke? It had to be, and I was ashamed. I twisted the diamond stud earring in my left ear. “Danni said she was working with someone.” Not sure if it was a statement or an inflection because of the beautiful flow of the Irish language, I only knew he waited for my response when he didn’t continue. “Yes, she was.” “She thought whatever it was she was doing could break the ring of power and ruin one or more of the members, or so she believed. There were a couple things she needed to verify first.” He snatched the pads of paper up into the air again. The action revealed his frustration. “Now I know why. This. This nonsense. If she refuses to use the Net, compiling notes and verifying stories takes longer, much longer.” It wasn’t that Danni didn’t do work that way, but she said writing, not typing, connected her to the story. It personalized it. Bobby had also verified that Danni needed a few face-to-face contacts. People she must have worried for, or about, had she simply contacted them over the phone or the Net. I shook my head. I, personally, sided with Brock on this. The Internet was a magnificent invention. So were phones. I didn’t see the need for her trip to Ireland, but then again I didn’t know all of the things she did. If she had pictures and documents that belonged to The Outfit, maybe she needed someone to do, like an eyewitness verification or something.

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Fax. Fax would have been good. Brock was still talking. “What? I’m sorry, you lost me there for a minute.” He frowned. “Said she’d been talking to someone named Mac. They were working together.” That confirmed my beliefs about Brock. Danni really must trust him to tell him about Mac. Otherwise, she’d just say she had a contact. I don’t know how many times over the years I’d heard that line quickly followed with it’s not you, Charlie, it’s the job. “That’s how I ‘fell’ into the element.” “You’re friends with this Mac as well?” This Mac? He didn’t know if Mac was male or female. “We’re connected.” “Em. Danni really didn’t say that much. God, I wish she had. I wish there was something I could do. There’s nothing worse than feeling so powerless. When I take over a company or make the decision to liquidate, I hold those people’s futures in my hands, and I weigh that carefully. But at least there I have information to weigh before I make my decision.” “I know.” “I can make an informed decision. Here I can’t do anything.” “I know.” “It’s making me crazy!” “I know.” Boy, did I know. “Was there anything else?” He shook his head. “Said that’s where it started, with Mac, that’s where she got her information. Sweet Mary, how she loves a good start.” Few things sparked that light in Danni’s eye like the scent of a new lead, the source of a fresh story. It rejuvenated her. I nodded in agreement. “Em. Right, well that was all well and good, but Danni seemed more excited about something else.” “Really?” That was news to me. “Something beyond the story. Exactly what, I’m not sure. I did, however, get the distinct impression her involvement was totally personal, and it wouldn’t end up in her piece, but maybe it was this personal tidbit that drew her home to Ireland.” “Do you have any idea what it was? About whom?” My interest piqued. I leaned toward him, reaching out to him with my mind and body. “I know only what she told me. She said she thought that she had something in her possession, some paperwork of some kind that could protect someone.” His shoulder rose. “I don’t know. It seemed nonsense to me at the time. Who’d she have to protect? You’re her only family, now. Well, besides me, and I certainly don’t need her protection. Sadly, I wasn’t listening like I should ha’ been.”

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Men. I slumped back. “But that’s how Danni is, ya know? She gets all excited about something and makes connections no logical person does, taking herself from point A to point Z in two seconds with the words alphabet and roadblock. She rambles on for a bit, sometimes in not more than a mumble, then she brightens up and says ‘right’ like we should all agree with her, hell, even know what she’s talking about. So we say ‘right, Danni’ because if not she’ll ramble on again, losing us further.” My brow wrinkled. Not possible. Did he have any idea he’d just described himself? I doubted it. Somewhere back on A to Z he lost me. “What are you talking about?” He shook his head. His black hair was dry now, and I noticed a bit of a wave to it. “Guess it’s a trait we share, not by birth but by raisin’.” “I’d say so.” I tried to be gentle but I knew my words were still a little on the rude side. “So, what was it you were saying?” “I don’t remember. Just too tired I guess.” He rolled his neck, displaying the great hollows and vee at the base of his throat as he went. “So, Charlie, you tell me. What are we lookin’ for if not a note? This paperwork she thought she had? You think she’d leave it here or keep it with her?” How much could I tell him? “How much do you care about Danni, Brock?” “That’s a horrible question!” I didn’t know how to apologize. Didn’t even know if I should, so I sat in silence, waiting for his answer. With one hand he worried his knuckles on the other. “Danni, she, she was my closest friend for years.” “But then you moved away, and she came to the States.” He nodded. “So, I ask you again.” His bold gaze matched mine. It did not falter. “I’d do whatever it takes to save her.” He stopped me before I could say anything. “And don’t be tellin’ me she doesn’t need saving. I know she’s in danger. Bad danger. So whatever it takes to get her back safe and unless you grew up like we did, seein’ the things we saw, doin’ the things we did ... Well, I can tell you didn’t. I’m pretty sure Danni, for all your closeness, and I’m not doubting it or knockin’ it, never explained all about of our past. Our families. The neighborhood. The troubles.” Tears stung my eyes. Everyone had a piece of her that I didn’t know about. He was up off the floor and beside me on the bed in an instant. “I didn’t mean it like that, Charlie. I’m sorry. I know how close you two are. There wasn’t a call or an e-mail during all these years where your name wasn’t included. Sometimes there aren’t words to explain. Sometimes things need to stay in the past.”

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Right. There were times when words simply would not do. “I’m just saying that there are things in our past that guarantee she’ll always have my support, protection ... life if need be. And I can tell by how guarded you are about sharing her information you feel exactly the same way. You held her confidence on the plane and that makes me happy, to know she has you caring for her.” I tried to smile, but it felt weak and forced. I knew I was acting like a petulant child, but it was so much to take in. “You have every right to question me and my motives. I’m just not accustomed to it but I’ll cooperate to ease your mind. Here. Look at this.” He held out his hand. “What?” He took my hand in his other and he gently extended my finger. With that held by his he turned his hand over for me to see, the palm face up. A long, slender scar ran the length of his left pointer finger. “She and I are blood relation.” Picturing Danni and Brock as children cutting themselves finally made me smile as I traced the faded scar. “And who fights blood?” He shook his head. “Not me. She’s a part of me forever, and I’ll do whatever I need to, to see her safe.” “Right.” It felt good to talk to someone, to be in the same room, to share Danni. Someone who cared about her like I did. Sort of. “You never did anything so foolish as this, did ya?” No. I’d never cut myself to share blood. With all the diseases and illnesses, I wouldn’t think of it, too dangerous. I shook my head. Danni knew that, not that as a mature woman she would have repeated the childhood pact, but ... Soft tears slipped to my cheek before I realized I was crying. Brock reached out and pulled me into his arms. “It’s okay to miss her.” “I know,” I choked. “I just want her back. I’m not cut out for this. I’m not strong.” He petted my hair. Surprisingly I didn’t find the action patronizing. It was soothing. “Earlier you said you know who she’s with.” “They have her.” He hesitated. His hand stilled. “They? I’m going out on a limb here, but they as in The Outfit?” Words escaped me. His tone said he was cursing himself for not asking Danni more questions when he had the chance. “They found out she had that information on them.” I nodded again. A tight knot closed off most of my throat. It hurt to swallow. “They want their paperwork back.” Brock held me an arms length away from him. “Then give it back.”

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“I don’t know what it is, where it is, or I would.” I pulled my hands up in the sleeves of my nightshirt, then used the material to wipe my eyes dry. “That’s not true. They told me sort of what it is.” “Wait. Wait just one moment. Is this why you weren’t on the same plane ride with me? Why you gave me that cold shoulder at the airport? The people you were talking to on the phone, they were The Outfit?” “Yes.” His eyes narrowed. This was it. I went to my purse, pulled out the two notes and gave them to him. If I was going to trust Brock, I’d have to give him at least the basics. This was his hometown after all. Chances for our success increased if we worked together. Though he moved quickly, I noted the care with which he manipulated the notes. When he was through, he refolded them exactly the way he’d opened them. He scratched his chin. “I see.” “What? What do you see?” I put them back into my purse. “Why you were such a bitch to me.” Ouch. I stopped, stood completely still. “At the airport, when I was trying to talk to you, ta find out what was wrong and ye told me to kiss off. It all makes sense now. Will you tell me what happened? Beyond those notes?” I stood there. The hum of the air conditioner seemed to kick up a notch. The pounding in my temples hurt nearly as much as the pain in my heart. “Charlie?” “They gave me that first note when I woke up on the plane. The other one, about where to meet, Aid--” I cut myself off. Aidan had trusted me with his identity. I could not betray that. “And,” I recovered. “Well, there was that call, you know? The one you were listening to. Yeah. Well. Sort of listening to.” He motioned for me to continue. “They all pretty much said the same thing anyway. Do what they tell me to and she’ll live. Don’t and I’ll never, we’ll never see her again.” I stared out the sheer drapery to the lights of the building across from us. Suddenly nervous someone was out there watching us, I went to the window and jerked the heavy drapes shut. “You never know who’s watching.” Brock seemed disturbed by the revelation. “Truly?” “One of The Outfit’s many talents.” I sank down beside him, tucked one leg underneath me. The other leg dangled off the side of the bed, my toes brushed the carpet. “Mac. I need to tell you a little bit about that.” “Aye.”

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After filling him in, I fell back on the bed, starring up at the ceiling. The bed was comfortable. If it wasn’t there ... wait. Bobby had said that Danni had changed her clothes. That her clothes and her purse were left behind. I jumped up and went to her bags. I dropped to my knees, tearing through her stuff, looking. What purse would she have brought? She didn’t put the care into accessorizing I did. Why hadn’t I thought to ask Bobby which one she had? Not like he’d remember. Being a kid, and a man, he probably hadn’t looked at it. Unless he was the one to put the bug in it in the first place. “The little black one or the medium black one?” “What?” I looked up. “Her purse. Did you see a purse in here? She only has two. They’re both black. I was trying to figure out if she would bring the small one or the medium-sized one. Not that there is really that much difference.” Three pairs of jeans. Two turtlenecks. One blouse. Flannel PJs. One sweatshirt. Three sweaters. Undergarments. Notebooks, pens, binder clips. Socks. The woman fit a lot into her bag. Dirty clothes. Where were her dirty clothes? The smaller bag. Of course, she’d put it in a different bag. I smiled at her small step at organization. I snatched it from atop the dresser, tore it open. Sweater. Bra. Socks. Purse! Aha! Brock sat, his hands clasped between his widespread knees, a startled expression on his face. To be fair, I probably did look like a mad woman. In a weak little voice, I muttered, “Found it. Hee hee.” “Glad to hear it. Now, would you mind telling me what ‘it’ is and why you turned from a civil lady into a miniature cyclone?” Slowly, my gaze scanned the room. His neat, orderly little piles had been obliterated. Danni’s clothes had somehow managed to get slung over the back of the desk chair. A sweater on the mattress. One pair of socks was even as far away as the television set. I scrubbed at my neck. Felt the heat of embarrassment there. It made the collar of my nightshirt itch. “You see, I have a good reason for this. Mac put a tracking unit on Danni.” I held up her sweater and the purse. “Here and here. Mac didn’t think Danni would change clothes first.” “Danni never was the purse type.” “No. She’s not. And Mac’s not the type to divulge placing the units on Danni. Bad combination.” I corrected his tense, refusing to allow for her to be referred to in the past tense. While I spoke, I felt along the fabric of the sweater. At the cuff was a minute metal pin. I pulled it free. Then I went to work on the purse. That one wasn’t so hard to find. It was attached right at the zipper. “So Mac knew this was dangerous.”

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“Mac’s whole life is dangerous.” His frown grew more pronounced. “To be fair, most of Danni’s is, too. It’s just that with her job, the paper knows there are dangers as an investigative reporter and she’s insured. I don’t have to worry. This is different. No one knows what happened.” He voiced my worst fear. “We still don’t know what will happen.” “No. We don’t. May I ask you a personal question, Brock?” He’d begun picking up the room, restacking Danni’s clothing. And here I thought I was bad. Had I finally found someone more anal than I? Clean, tidy, and hot! I couldn’t wish for a more perfect man. The accent. Friends with Danni. Good clothing sense. He glanced at me over his shoulder, and my heart skipped a beat. If I’d ever seen bedroom eyes, it was on this man. The turquoise hue made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. Not right now. Now, I was supposed to be worried about our friend, about getting her back, about finding the paperwork. But Brock made my knees weak and the look in his eyes made the bed call our names. The blue ocean from Mac’s pictures seemed more and more appealing. Now, after meeting Brock, I could see why people stared into the clear waters for hours and dreamt of escape. In his eyes I could escape, if only for a little while. His lips quirked up to match his raised brow. “Shoot.” “Do you normally wear underwear?” The bra dangling from his exquisite fingers dropped to the floor, and I swear I thought he would choke. Not what he had expected. My gaze dropped pointedly to his tight backside. There it lingered for a moment. “You jerked those jeans up without a stitch on, so, do you normally run around bare or was this a special occasion?” He pointed to the desk chair. Folded neatly under his shirt was a pair of cotton boxers. They peeked out. “Oh. Thanks.” My observation skills seemed nil. I was a tree in the forest kind of girl, not the forest for the trees. “Care to tell me why you’re interested in my skivvies?” There were numerous reasons, but ... “This little gem.” I rolled the tracking device between my thumb and forefinger, letting the light catch the silver. “Mac should still have the means to track this, and this.” I held up the other one. “If you’re serious and want to help --” “I do.” “Then you should wear one, and I should wear one.”

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Chapter Eleven “Shoes?” Brock laughed. “Shoes. I don’t change them as often as I do underwear.” I did. “If I put the bug in my shoe, just inside the lip, I think it would be better than my boxers. More safe.” If he thought so, who was I to argue. “What about you?” “I’m not putting that thing in my shoe.” He looked at the heels in the corner. “I’ll put it in my bra.” A dark brow rose. “You don’t change those?” “We’re on a sixteen --” I stopped and looked at my Villemont. “Thirteen-and-threequarters-hour schedule. I shouldn’t need to change out by then. Fresh one in the morning ... I’ll put it there.” “Then what?” He flipped off the entrance light, then the bathroom. “Then, I wear it.” I watched him, excitement and unease battling in my body as he shut off the lights. “What are you doing?” “Thirteen hours, give or take, you say. Unlike you, I didn’t sleep on the plane ride here. I’m totally knackered. I’m going to bed.” “In here?” “Aye.” “On that?”

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“Aye.” “With me?” He laughed. “Unless you’re going somewhere else, aye.” “But.” “But what?” Knowing it would be terribly inappropriate to say, just sleep? Or even worse to say, I can’t sleep with you, I want you, I fumbled for something more suitable. “We still haven’t found the files.” “No. But wearing yourself out won’t help Danni. You need rest. It’s in your eyes.” He offered me his hand. I accepted, and he tugged me off the floor. I still had her purse clutched in my hand, but I laid the tracking devices on the desktop. He cupped my chin, tilting my face up toward him. He was so handsome it actually stole my breath. The dark Irish. His light eyes, fair skin, and midnight black hair. His square jaw hinted a shadow already though I knew from his razor on the sink that he’d shaved just a bit ago. “You’re tired. Come to bed.” He pulled on my hand, guiding me his direction. “Tomorrow, we’ll find the answers, together when we’re both fresh.” “And tonight?” The humor and hunger in his gaze told me I’d asked the right question. “Tonight we find comfort.” Something was terribly wrong with me. Maybe I’d caught a virus, for again my voice didn’t work. Answers. Brock had mentioned something about answers. What was the question? My nipples abraded through the soft cotton of my shirt as they rubbed against his chest. His left hand slipped around my waist. An argument about how I wasn’t that kind of girl died on my desperate lips the moment he whispered my name. I melted. Tacky putty in his most skilled hands. I licked my lips. He took that as all the invitation he needed, dipping his head. I felt his lips a moment before they touched mine. It was magnetic, a connection, a fierce overpowering link. His lips slanted over mine; soft at first like the wings of a butterfly, they gently brushed against mine. Faint, feathery, then growing in force and passion. Hot and hungry I kissed him back not caring a whit for my reputation or rational decision-making. He was right. It was the simplest truth of life. Tonight I needed comfort in the arms of the only person who understood my need, my terror, my uncertainty. I needed someone who understood me. Right or wrong, I felt that connection with Brock. The morning light may very well denounce me for a fool, but the night understood. Without preamble, he’d made it into the waistband of my PJ bottoms. His hands warm, inviting. His thumb rubbed small circles on the curve at the base of my spine.

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I felt the hard wall at my back, not knowing when we’d moved. His hand at my jaw slipped behind my neck, keeping our lips locked, but his hand at my back left for a brief moment when he flipped the last light switch. Only the faint red of the fire detector glowed in the room, and the weak illumination from the hall lights that crept underneath the door, but I could still see him. Brock’s silhouette came alive, and I swear he smiled as he stepped back and drew my top up over my head. The long layers of my hair tickled as they fell down and across my back. “Are you thinking maybe to drop that purse or take it to bed with us?” He jerked his head toward the bed. “If it’s coming with us, that’s all right. It doesn’t take up much space, but make it worthwhile. Check and see if Danni’s stashed something beneficial in there.” The soft strap of the purse dug into my palm from how tightly I grasped it. I’d forgotten I still held it. I laughed and set the purse on the end table near the bed. “There. Better?” My voice was husky with want. Tucked into the front compartment were condoms. I knew. I’d packed them there for her. She did so much traveling ... I pulled the three foil wrapped packages out, thankful for the darkness. Their packaging crinkled. “That’s not very Catholic of you,” he teased. In the darkness I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please! It’s Danni’s purse.” He chuckled. “Ah, yes, but you see, you knew they were there, in the dark, without rummaging for them.” “I’m French.” That was, after all, the answer to any question. Still chuckling, he crushed me to him. Our bodies flush with each other. His hard. Mine soft. Heated skin to heated skin. My hands rested on his chest. The wrapper of the condom between my fingers seemed to be the only thing not burning up with desire. My head tilted to the side as if we had an unspoken communication. His lips found the pulse at the base of my neck. Hot, wet, he peppered kisses along my throat. Up to my earlobe. His breathing, fast, excited, rasped by my ear.

“Me font l’amour, Brock.” “That is the plan.” He danced me around until my calves knocked against the edge of the mattress and we fell onto the bed.

“Vous parlez francais?” I asked, surprised. “Oui. A little, but I’ll learn more just to hear your sweet lips speak it.” “Smooth.” “I try.” He kissed the valley between my breasts, moved lower, staggered light kisses across my ribs, lingering over a small mole on my right side. His tongue traced the edge of my bellybutton. The slow lazy circles made me writhe.

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“You like that, do you?” I arched my back in answer. Brock capitalized on the moment to slip my pajama bottoms and underwear over my buttocks and down my legs. I’d never been so happy I’d shaved in all my life. He inserted a brawny leg between mine. With his foot, he pushed my panties down past my ankles and off the bed where they fell to the floor. My hands searched for the fly of his jeans. I fumbled in the darkness for the zipper, shy and unsure, happy Brock couldn’t see my face and the flush I knew covered my body. It had been ages since I’d been in the intimate embrace of a man, even longer since it had been someone who made me hot by just the intensity of his gaze. Years. The heavy weight of his body felt right. It felt reassuring pressed up against me. He was right, when we touched, when his lips met mine and his hand skimmed over my skin, it did comfort me. And I needed that. More so than I’d thought. Being in his arms eased the worry and ache clouding my life. Touching him brought solace. It linked me to hope and to Danni and everything good in life. When he shifted again, making sure he was in my line of vision, it forced my attention to his broad shoulders, the rounded curve, the tight muscles, the way the longer hairs at the base of his neck curled up. I smiled. In the stillness he regarded me. His head cocked to the side. My skin burned. He examined my face. I felt it more than saw the action. “Hmmm?” “What’s wrong, Charlie?” “Nothing. Well, everything, but nothing’s wrong here.” He steadied himself above me, holding off his full weight by how his arms were positioned. He traced my cheekbone as he spoke. His touch firm, but gentle, the same as his tone. “If you don’t want to, I completely understand.” He legitimately seemed to care what I thought and felt. I believe he would stop if I gave the word. I also knew I’d regret it every day for the rest of my life if I didn’t seize the opportunity to be loved by Brock. I tried to rationalize and compartmentalize all the sensations that zinged through my body. “Is that a no then, luv?” What did I want? Thoughts overwhelmed me. In my mind’s eye lists spread out numbering into the thousands. It was as if page upon page of words on spreadsheets flew past me at a breakneck speed. Almost comical. Borderline nightmarish. Words stayed for only a moment. I couldn’t grasp full concepts or sentences. I felt out of control. What did I want? I didn’t want to think anymore. I certainly didn’t want to lie in the same bed as Brock and not have our bodies together. I couldn’t bear just lying there and thoughts whipping

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through my mind. I’d never rest, and I know I’d only want to touch him. So that’s what I did. “It’s a yes,” I answered, nuzzling my lips at the base of his throat, up under his chin, then nipping at his lips. “Oui. Maintenant.” He chuckled as he kicked off his pants. I heard them land with a muffled thud. I would not shut my eyes. I focused on Brock, his body, his laugh. The way his breath mingled with my own, fresh with the lingering scent of the mint toothpaste we’d both used. It gave me a chill amplified by how he stroked my skin. His large hands seemed to go against the grain rubbing me up, turning on every nerve in my body, calling them to attention. With the upward motion, the nerve endings craved his caress, seemed to wait for it. I tingled with anticipation of where the sensation might run through my body next. The rough stubble along his jaw scraped at my cheek, and I savored the feel. This was real. His being there, our union, was something I could control. My actions and choices set the pace. Empowered, I brushed against him, softly at first and then with more vigor. The realness, the sounds, the smells, the throbbing excited me. My breath came in small, fast pants. The door was -He didn’t allow time for my random thoughts or half-formulated worry. Denied as I’d been for years, by my work and before that by my family situation, I was starved for affection. The physical act of sharing our bodies was only a small part of it. I yearned for the gentle ministrations of someone wanting me, needing me, desiring me as badly as I did them. My lips parted, and I moaned his name. “Yeah. I like it when you say my name.” His fingers brushed my inner thigh. “I could listen forever.” Me too. I loved his accent. I loved the way he touched me as though I were someone special, almost delicate. There was a reverence in the way he molded my breast, kissed my stomach, sighed when I kissed him back. He trailed kisses across the slight curve of my hip. The resultant shot of adrenaline sent tiny convulsions rippling through my stomach and heat to my core. “You’re the most beautiful woman.” “We make a handsome pair,” I teased. “That we do.” I slipped my hand in his hair and gently pulled, tugging him up so our faces were inches apart. His eyes were half closed. I kissed the end of his nose, then his forehead. With my thumbs I gently made certain his eyes were shut and then I kissed those. “Your lips are so soft. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite like it.” “How does it feel?” I gently suckled his earlobe.

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His hands roved from my back to my neck, twining in my hair, getting caught, pulling, fisting it into small bundles. “Magical.” A trill of delight gave me goosebumps. His tongue plunged into my mouth with an almost brutal onslaught. Wonder after wonder pummeled my senses, ravaging them, leaving me gasping for breath and begging for more. In a distant portion of my mind I heard the crinkle of the condom packages. I felt the temporary loss of his hand, but it wasn’t a total loss and his arms still held me. His hands brushed over the swell of my buttocks as he slid the condom onto his shaft. I rolled and at the same time pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, straddling him. He was hard and hot. If I wasn’t ready before, I was then. Desire sparkled in his eyes. With only faint light to see by, it seemed a diamond-like glitter. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. He gripped my hips trying to steady me, to slow me. “Not so fast, not yet.” But I couldn’t stop. The friction felt so good, heating parts of me I’d thought permanently frozen. I reached for him, or he for me. Flushed, heated bodies skimmed against each other. A sheen of sweat made our bodies slick. I wrapped my arms tight around him willing my heart to beat in measure with his, luxuriating in the feel of the thundering sensation. My rapid breath answered the call of his hammering heart. I felt smashed against him, and it was wonderful. I didn’t even know where one ended and the other began, our legs all wrapped up, my hair framing our faces, breath mingling. He slid his hands under my knees and pulled them forward, altering my position slightly. It hitched my legs over his hips, opening me to him. I dropped my hands behind my back for balance. My breasts jutted into the air. He growled out some word I didn’t understand. He slid his hands up the front of my thighs. One hand grabbed my hip, the other my breast. His touch was rough and tender, a sensation I’d never experienced. My back arched as I rocked back then forward, accepting his hard length in me. From the first moment it pushed past my opening a cry of pleasure ripped from my lips. I clutched around him. Small spasms jolted through my core. An odd tingle made me warm, threatening a quick release. Dizzy, I clutched the sheet in my fists, and squeezed my legs against his hipbones. His groan filled the room.

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Delicious. His hand left my hip, leaving me lonely. But I was not neglected for long as he lavished kisses upon my breasts, suckling, massaging, making me beg for more with whimpers and pleas. He teased my nipples, suckled my skin. Cupped my bottom. He sealed his mouth over mine, demanding more from me, urging me on to fulfillment with his tongue and with his hands. I ached down to my toes. I flexed them and my fingers, too. The stretch was good, but it wasn’t helping. It felt as though I’d run a marathon. I couldn’t breathe. My brain was starved for oxygen. Only one thing could fix this pressure. My muscles contracted. I gasped for air. “Yeah, baby. Like that.” Wet and wanting, I dug my nails into his back and cried his name. Tangling his hands in my hair, he buried himself completely. His body strained against mine. I pushed against his chest. He tugged down on my hair. “Yeah, baby. Yeah.” A soprano opera sang in my mind, yelping hallelujah. One of his hands found my neck. His fingers worked magic massaging. And I felt the pressure build again. I had no idea how he did it. I felt a million fingers touching me everywhere. Places that could not possibly receive attention still cried out in bliss. One hand on my neck, his other grasped my buttocks, holding me tightly to him. I leaned forward. My tender breasts, heavy and distended, ached as they brushed across his chest. The coiled roughness of his chest hair tickled and another jolt of electricity clenched my muscles. Both of his hands grasped my hips as he thrust. His short nails bit into my flesh in the best way possible. Gentle at first, I kissed him. Then with each thrust and as our bodies came together again and again I kissed him as though my life depended on it. Somehow I felt it did. History told me not to lose my head. Not to count too much on a man I’d just met or a physical reaction, no matter how earth shattering. It told me to remember this for what it was. Sex. That’s it. But it wasn’t. It was more. Each touch, so lovingly placed, each kiss a shared part of soul. The desire to cry out, to fall apart, let him comfort me, protect me crashed over me like a wave. I’d let him hold me in his strong arms; say soothing words, whisper promises of better times as I came right there in his embrace. The image in my mind was so beautiful I actually had the urge to cry. The first time was spectacular, but this, this was heaven. It would be so easy to give in, to succumb to Brock. Still, I held him at a slight distance, not wanting to fall completely. It didn’t seem a fair burden to place on him. He was my railing, my ground.

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He shifted and rolled me under him. Dropping his forehead to mine, he held us together, staring into my eyes. Our noses brushed, our lips inches from each other. It was as if he knew I’d kept him afar and he wouldn’t allow it to continue. “You’re a part of me now, little angel,” he whispered. “Don’t run.” By placing me in that position he took away my control and my space. I couldn’t turn away. The only opening left was to shut my eyes, but I wouldn’t deprive myself of his beautiful body, his passionate gaze, and the tenderness of his expression. He’d taken away my control, but it was okay. Surprisingly, I still felt safe. I knew he could feel the frustration coursing through my tense body, and I sensed the same in him by every muscle straining in his. The muscles in his back twitched under my palms. I held my breath. He smiled against my cheek, his whiskers rasping against my soft skin as he started to pump. Slowly he moved, then faster, then faster still. Lights exploded behind my lids. My eyes flew open and I stared into his. I felt his release in both the low growl in his throat and the pulsing between my thighs. At that moment, against every warning, looking into his eyes I had no choice -- I let go.

*****

Still dizzy and breathless, I took several minutes to recover. That marathon I felt as though I’d run had me spent. My muscles completely relaxed. It felt too good to do much more than cuddle up next to him and purr silently. He rubbed his nose to my cheek. “That was superb.” I gave a small humph. “You don’t think so? I guess I’ll have to work harder in the future.” Brock tightened his grip and pulled me more into his embrace. My cheek mashed to his chest. I listened to the still-thundering pound of his heart. Future? Work harder? I didn’t know it could be that good anyway. If it got better, I’d have to work out every day at the club to be prepared for it. He didn’t appear a bit embarrassed by how much he’d enjoyed himself. I didn’t either, though technically I probably should. I didn’t make it a habit to get down and busy with near strangers. Hollering out their names in the throes of passion, cutting their backs with my manicured nails, essentially letting go and enjoying myself. No. I enjoyed sex, but more in an exercise way, not a bonding, complete exchange sort of way.

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No. Embarrassed wasn’t how I felt. Remotely guilty, that was the emotion plaguing my conscience. “Oh.” I felt the one syllable word in a puff of breath on the top of my head. “Oh what?” Distracted with my thoughts, I toyed with the hair on his stomach. “Oh, nothing. I’d wished you wouldn’t go there.” “Go where?” I placed my chin on his rib, balancing it there so I could watch him. His handsome face seemed resigned, but all the contented delight from only a moment before seemed to have disappeared. When he didn’t answer me straight away, I opened my mouth, so my chin dug into his rib. I worked it back and forth. “Huh, handsome? Go where?” He ignored my nuisance. He pulled the sheet up over us, tucking it around my waist. I hadn’t been tucked-in in years. Another brick slipped loose from the wall around my heart and toppled free. “Immediately to guilt. Thought we’d at least get a couple minutes of afterglow first.” “Guilt? I didn’t say anything about guilt.” I dropped my head back to his chest. “I mean why should I feel guilty here in this huge bed, warm, inside a posh hotel, with a handsome man, who can make me scream yes, yes, yes in seven languages while my best friend is missing being kept God knows where in God knows what kind of condition?” He kissed my head. With tenderness, he gave me a short squeeze; then, keeping his hand on my shoulder, he rubbed it. “Yep. Right there.” Several minutes of silence ticked by. As each new numeral showed on the clock, I couldn’t take it anymore. “You call that guilt?” “Aye. Wished we’d had a moment or two before you went there. You do know, had the situation been reversed, Danni would have done the same thing.” “Ewww!” He laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest, husky, manly, and enough to set my hormones blazing again. “Not with me, you eejit!” Mollified I giggled. He tickled me and I dissolved into a full fit of laughter. He was right. She would have. And the tender way with which he dealt with me. What of that? I wasn’t accustomed to that. Men handled me with care, but more the care of a favorite vase, not with the nuances of adoration. He stopped my wiggling about by pulling me to him, tucking me in the crook of his arms. He brushed the hair back from my face. “Little angel, you should sleep.” At the term of affection, I smiled and yawned. Maybe he was a hypnotist. I wanted to close my eyes and do his bidding. What would it be like to have a man to fall asleep with every night? I snuggled closer to his warm body. I kissed his chest.

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I felt him turn his head toward the window. I heard the rain pattering against the glass. The last words I heard before drifting off to a deep sleep were: “The light of the morning is still a bit off. We’ll rest for a while and solve this in on the morrow. We’ll have her back tomorrow night.”

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Chapter Twelve I woke up scared and alone. My heart pounded in my ears. Goosebumps lined my skin. I kept my eyes firmly pressed shut, my mouth too, listened, but nothing. I don’t know what had awoken me but whatever it was left me with the sickening feeling of a dream slipping through my stomach and my nerve endings like a drug. There wasn’t a sound in the room. Even the air conditioner was silent. It cast the room into an eerily surrealism. The room was cooler than I remembered. The king bed seemed too large with only me in it. With my eyes tightly shut, I didn’t know how I knew I was alone. I sensed it. Maybe I was wrong, maybe Brock was on the far edge of the bed. My eyes flew wide. Nothing. Scrambling to my knees and across the bed, clutching a solitary sheet to my chest, I scanned the room. The drapes were pulled open, tied back even. It looked as though housekeeping had attended the room while I slept. The mess I’d made the night before had been tidied up. All of Danni’s possessions sat in orderly stacks on the desktop. My suitcase lay zipped closed on the luggage rack. The wardrobe doors were shut. My startled reflection stared back at me from the full-length mirrors. My gaze slowly drifted toward the desk chair. Brock’s folded underwear and shirt were missing. I knew they would be, but seeing the empty space where they’d sat the night before seemed too real. I trapped my quivering bottom lip between my teeth. Heart in my throat, I scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom, taking the sheet with me. His shaving kit was gone. Mine was there unrolled and hanging from the clothing rack. In the top compartment, the toothbrush partially protruded out of the zipper to air dry. The toothpaste rose neatly behind it.

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I could still smell the spicy scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Jutting my head back out the door, I glared at the bed. His spot, his pillow, they were rumpled. Every inch of my skin still burned from his touch. After a full minute when nothing changed -- I did not hear my name called, he did not materialize from under the bed -- I softly pushed the bathroom door shut. He was gone. I was alone. Scared, alone, and confused. I knew alone, and I’d never wanted to be alone again, not after Mother’s death. When she left me, I lost everything. Danni had held my hand while I cried, scared and morbidly depressed. Now there was no one to hear my tears, or care whether or not they fell.

Brock. Last night we’d found comfort just like he promised. Had it been worth it? The sex was great, yes. I loved the feel of his arms and the connection to something greater I thought we’d both found in each other’s arms. Sadness clogged my throat. Apparently, I was wrong. We hadn’t found anything except a distraction. What could we have found if he’d gotten up, gathered his belongs and left during the still of the night without so much as a kiss goodbye? Part of me felt cheap, but the louder parts still exclaimed what he and I shared was beautiful and mutual. If I knew anything about myself at all, the argument would rage in my mind all day. A sight or a sound would remind me and it would all come rushing back. I didn’t have the time or the energy for that. I had to pull myself together and get the business at hand taken care of. Though facing the empty hotel room would be so much easier if I didn’t have to face the desolation in my heart. I felt sick. I’d always held my tension in my stomach. Mother told me to change it. Father said it’s what kept me thin. Either way ... I knew I could shut my mind off to emotion but somehow, somewhere over the years my heart and brain had decided to no longer speak to each other. My heart hurt. Physically hurt thinking that Brock had gone -- had left me. When my mind said to mask the wrenching, the heart refused to listen. Since when had my heart become so totally entwined with some Irish blackguard? Oh, Brock Halen O’Bannon was smooth. I slouched against the door. A pair of my jeans and a sweater hung there, ready for the day’s use. I’d taken one of Danni’s sweaters. The colors weren’t my best, emerald green, forest green and black in varying degrees. I buried my face in the thick wool and drew in a deep breath. Was it my imagination or could I smell him on the clothes? Tears stung my eyes but I blinked them away. Even though I was upset, my shoulders weren’t tense. The only thing affected was my stomach and, well, I was accustomed to that. No. It seemed my body had completely relaxed after our lovemaking. It had smoothed out my rough edges, and I couldn’t work them back up again, just yet. The irony was not lost to me.

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I slipped out of the sheet, depositing it in a huge pile in the middle of the bathroom floor. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, then knotted it, pulling the holder over and over the bulge until I felt it pain my roots. My hair was so thick that if I washed it again, it would take forever to dry. Not that it would matter in the rain. I showered. It was a quick shower. The water never seemed to quite get hot enough. After toweling dry and dressing, I went to the sink. I refused to meet my gaze in the bathroom mirror. I knew what I’d see, and I didn’t want it. The lips still swollen from Brock’s passionate kisses. Probably a little stubble-burn on my neck, my cheeks, my breasts. I didn’t think I could take seeing it. Seeing things made them real, made the absence too painful. Instead, methodically, I took my toothbrush out, lined up three dots of toothpaste on the bristles, ran moderate water over them, then began my two minutes of brushing. I counted off the seconds watching the water disappear down the drain. I rinsed my mouth and my brush, placed the items back in their bag just as they had been. I washed my face with cold water and slowly, methodically applied basic make-up. Some mascara, eyeliner, and a hint of blush. The lack of desire to look at my face limited the applications I was willing to endure. My hair? I jerked the ponytail holder out, taking a notable amount of blonde hair with it. I plucked it free, deposited it in the wastebasket. The comb was in the bedroom. Without thinking, I slipped the band over my wrist. I opened the door and was immediately rewarded by the sweet aroma of gourmet coffee. Time stood still. My hand fixed on the doorknob. A muttered curse died in my throat. Brock stood near the entertainment console with coffee, scones, and biscuits. He glanced up at me with a huge smile on his handsome face. The smile disappeared when we made eye contact. “Heavens, Charlie, you look like you’ve had yourself a bad dose. What’s wrong?” He was back. Maybe I was imagining things, but if I were what did I have to lose? I smoothed the front of my sweater, checking the hem of the shirt so no part was rolled up or under. “I thought you’d gone.” “I did for --” He hooked his thumb in the direction of the door. I shook my head. My voice still sounded hoarse. “I mean, I thought you abandoned Danni.” He paled, knowing full well what I hadn’t said.

Me. I thought you deserted me. With a half-hearted laugh and an uncertain voice, he said, “Well, I’ve done it all arseways it seems. I’m sorry. Just went to get us a wee bit of breakfast. The sisters always said a person thought better with a fair amount of food in their belly, and I have to say I agree.”

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Feeling foolish, I nodded. “Me too.” Food would help settle my nerves. Unchecked emotions zipped through my mind and body. My jaw clenched and unclenched. He hadn’t left me. What did I do with that information? He’d come back. He’d never had any intention of making me face the future of this alone. My traitorous lips trembled, as did my hands. My legs even seemed a bit wobbly. He set the tray down. “Charlie, I really should have left you a note or something. God knows Danni has enough paper stashed in her belongings, but I didn’t think I’d be gone that long.” “No. Really. It’s okay.” “I wanted to ask some questions of the morning staff. Have a wee chat before it got real busy down in reception and, well ...” A slow smile curved his lips and a devilish gleam lit his eyes. “... you looked so beautiful lying there. I didn’t have the heart to wake ye.” Who wouldn’t forgive a speech like that? I’d have to be a fool. “I actually feel a little ridiculous for getting worked up about it. I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion. It’s just that, well I didn’t see you, and then your bags are gone.” “I put them in the closet.” He slid the door open for me to see, then slipped it shut again. “Force of habit.”

Mon Dieu! I hadn’t thought to look there. I raked my fingers through my hair, glancing in the mirrored glass of the closet door as I did so. My hair looked fine. I was very lucky in that respect. This style styled itself. It just fell in heavy, long layers. Couldn’t really mess it up. The extra volume from letting it dry while I slept only helped. “I just ... just thought.” “I know what you thought, little angel, and I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that on top of everything else.” We met each other. He pulled me into his open arms and hugged me tight to his chest. He gave me a tender, brief kiss. His lips sparked warmth deep within my body. No long speech about how I shouldn’t judge him by other men’s failures. No comment about my neurosis. Just a kiss. “Mornin’, luv. Forgive me?” He stepped back and looked down at me. I was tall, but he was taller, and we fit perfectly. “Morning.” I snatched a scone and a chocolate biscuit. “Of course I do. You brought food.” He pulled out the desk chair and dropped one long leg over it so he sat astride. He reached over the back of the seat for his cup and saucer. “Good. Hate to start the day off angry. Hard on digestion. Wait til I tell ye about the bellhop.” Crumbs dusted the front of my sweater. They embedded themselves in the deep emerald green wool weave. Embarrassed, I brushed them to the carpet. I’d leave a bigger tip than usual on the bed for the maid. Around a mouthful of food I mumbled, “Hmmm?”

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“Seemed like a nice enough lad, til I actually started speakin’ with him. He’s gone in the head, he is.” I sipped my coffee. Strong and steaming, freshly brewed. Just the way I like it. A tumbler with milk sat on the table and I debated the need. “How do you mean?” Brock coughed. “I mean he’s been hitting the pipe and hard.” “He’s into drugs?” I poured the milk into the black liquid, watching it swirl a mocha brown. “Aye. And into it is a wee gentle phrasing. Submerged might be a more appropriate wordin’. He’s all wally-eyed with the baked scent of oil on him. I don’t know if it’s because of the early hour and his bosses haven’t seen him yet, but when they do ...” Brock let his sentence trail off and shook his head. “Poor lad seems a good enough kid if he’d get himself straightened out. I hate to see him, or anyone for that matter, throw their life away like that. And at the hands of a pipe no less. Pointless.” “I wonder what drove him to it?” “The lad has looks. Those surely won’t last tokin’. He might’ve even had a brain at one time, God knows he doesn’t now. Getting him to finish a complete sentence, though, was painful I tell ye.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk as if to punctuate his thought. “It’s difficult to get a job these days without throwing imbecilic behavior and drugs in the midst, but he’ll sure enough lose this one. He’ll wind up a taffer on the streets.” I thought of all the kids back in Detroit, living on the streets, running with gangs. The ones I passed on my way to work in the morning. For the most part I looked straight ahead, my eyes trained on the road in front of me, or my attention on the talk radio, or even the lights ahead. I’d sit there warm and safe in my car, the locks securely engaged, while the homeless hunkered down in their second-hand jackets, their faces obscured by their upturned collars. It seemed such a foreign world to me, separated by glass. The distance much greater than from road to alley. I didn’t know what drove them there, what could possibly make them contented in the lifestyle, nor did I generally care to examine that question too closely. Suddenly the devastation seemed more personal. Brock’s shoulder rose. “But that’s neither here nor there. I tell you because your first argument will be something along the lines of ‘will his testimony hold up in a court of law.’ I’m telling you now, it won’t.” Did I say anything along those lines? Still, the thought had been forming. Damn, Brock was good. I sank to the floor stretching my leg out in front of me. I still nibbled on my chocolate biscuit. He looked at me pointedly. “We’re functioning on hearsay only. I’m fine with that, but are you?”

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Grabbing ahold of the arch on my right foot, I leaned forward, enjoying the stretch in my low back and thigh. “Any lead’s a lead. So, what did he say?” “He said he remembered Danni very well indeed.” “Did you have to pay him to remember?” He shook his head. “That’s the beauty of this. No. I didn’t even physically describe her. I said her name and he came right over to me willing to offer information. He pulled me aside, all skittish like. Said that when Danni arrived, she made quite a commotion and so she would.” “What do you mean?” I switched legs. “She’d have just seemed another tourist, another business person. He knew her by the name Danni or Danelle?” “Danni.” Why? “I don’t get it. She’s beautiful, yes, but that’s not so unusual. Why would she stand out like this?” He shook his head. “Not exactly. Aye, she’s beautiful and no, we don’t get lookers like that every day, but that’s not what it was at all. She’s no stranger. Danni grew up here.” “I know.” “No, I don’t think you do.” He spoke with his hands, animated and excited. “Belfast’s a huge city, yes, but small town mentality is still prevalent. From here to the Local, people know you. They follow your career, your life as if you were a member of their own. They have Danni.” I swallowed my last bit of biscuit, washed it down with fluid. Then I pulled both legs into a tight Indian style and reached far forward. “That actually sounds terrifying to me. I prefer my anonymity.” “I suppose to your way of thinkin’ it would a wee bit.” A wee bit? “But for the most part, it’s a good thing. Like, em, you all have the neighborhood watch. Very similar in concept except these people actually care about you. They aren’t just watching to watch. I think America has many a voyeur lurking behind their locked doors and open blinds.” He pursed his lips. “Aye. Neighborhood Watch.” Yeah. Except we didn’t have The Outfit watching us. No, wait, we did. “Gregg, the lad I was speaking with, that’s his name, said Danni made a huge commotion when she tried to check in. Someone had been followin’ her, so they say. She seemed worried and a bit disjointed.” I laughed. He nodded. “I wondered just how bad it had to be for our dear Gregg to note that as well.” “Are you sure it was her?”

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“He described her to a tee. Said she was a talented gingernut with a huge smile and twice pierced ears who answered to and checked in as Danni Nolan, Investigative Reporter.” “That would be her.” He spoke more gently. “He did have some good information. Interesting, at the least. She specifically asked reservations for a room here on the ninth floor.” “Why? Danni isn’t big on heights.” When we traveled, she generally preferred the third story or lower. She said something about being able to survive the jump. Me, on the other hand, I preferred the highest floor. Less noise, less foot traffic, and if there were flooding or something it just seemed better. “I don’t know. She even asked for this side of the building.” I scooted until my back was against the entertainment console. The brass works on the drawers bit into my back, pinching the skin, but I knew I wouldn’t stay in one place for very long, so I coped. My gaze went back to the window. “So she had a purpose. She wanted to see something.” “Could be, but what?” I shook my head. What would have driven her here? The room had a large, unobstructed view that looked out over the street and toward the buildings across the way. I got to my feet. Then, with arms crossed over my chest, I went to the glass and peered out. The chill crept through the thick pane and I shivered. “Maybe she wanted to be seen.” “Several folks thought she was here twistin’ hay. She’s always had a way for diggin’ up trouble, getting to the practical details, as you say.” “Did everyone think she was here to cause a problem?” Her enemies could be more than just The Outfit and if that were the case, how many of these people would help us? Would they just protect Henderson and his men? “No. Some were glad she was finally home. There’s a lot of history with her, her name, her family.” His words sounded soft and distant. I clearly heard him, but at some point, I’d stopped listening. She’d sworn to never come back. What was so important that she’d break her oath? “Charlie?” His hand was warm on my shoulder. I didn’t look. I just reached up and patted it. “When I asked Gregg --” He sat down on the bed, and it creaked under his weight. “-the lad said he didn’t care what she was here for. It seemed that it was business of some sort. She flashed her credentials around like someone on assignment, but he didn’t know a specific story. He couldn’t even recall what had prompted her showing her press badge.” “Typical.”

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“Even more so. He said that as long as he got to look at that fine bit of stuff she could do whatever she had a mind to. He talked another lad out of her bags so he could follow her, talk to her.” Danni probably would have talked to him if he’d only asked, but then again, I supposed Danni might intimidate a young man. She was a successful, beautiful, outspoken woman. “He delivered her bags of course. Now, this is where the story gets ugly.” I quirked a brow. “While on the lift he thought he overheard two men mention her father. By name!” “No!” I spun around. Father Nolan. The man Danni had run from. The kid had to have heard incorrectly. If he hadn’t -“Aye. Even Gregg’s smart enough to know that spelled trouble. He’d had to take a separate lift because of some delay. I didn’t ask, so don’t ask me. He just said he rode up on the one behind her. Gregg also said he told Danni about the conversation when he delivered her bags.” The excitement made my hands sweaty. I wet my lips. “And? How’d she respond?” “The little wanker says he doesn’t remember. Not what she said. Not what she did. Only that it was worth a double to him. But he was plankin’ it. Sweat on his brow and all. I’d wager a fair amount that he could tell you the exact location of the two freckles in Danni’s neck. He knows how she responded, all right. He’s just not talking.” He nodded. “I guess it doesn’t matter that much. His telling you she tipped him a twenty is more than adequate.” Danni was frugal. The twenty was for the information, not for toting two tiny bags. “If what he says is so, which I believe it to be, Father Nolan’s already been contacted. He had to be. Probably before Gregg had a chance to tell our Danni about it.” “Yeah?” Father Nolan, my ass. He was no more a man of the cloth than I was a sainted Sister. “Aye. Certainly by now. Over here, two weeks is more than one lifetime.” I went over, picked up the tracking device from the desk. There was only one there. My gaze dropped to the floor in search of the apparatus. Brock lifted his left foot in the air, torqued it back and forth. “Already got mine on. First chore this mornin’.” I worked mine into the padding of my bra and reached for my purse, so I could call Mac’s service. She needed to know where the devices were. Well, not really where, per se, but that they were being utilized. “If word went to her father, why hasn’t he gotten her free of The Outfit?” Silence.

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Cold dread slipped up under my heavy sweater, crawling up my spine, making the hair on my arms stand on end. I couldn’t look at Brock. My heart pounded so painfully loud waiting his answer I swear I saw weird shapes dance in front of my eyes. I stared at the pretty striped wallpaper, willing him to say something. Silence. There was nothing but the hum of the air conditioner and the creak of his chair. I snapped the battery back into the phone and powered it on. It vibrated in my hand, then the screen came to life. Barely any life remained in the battery. Getting knocked around like that must have damaged it. I attempted to lead the conversation. “For her to have come back to Ireland was huge. He’d have wanted this opportunity to try to get her back into the fold, at least talk to her.” Still silence. “Please say something.” I waited a full count of thirty before I dialed Mac’s service. It rang and rang. Where was the operator, and why wouldn’t Brock answer my questions? “What would you have me say, Charlie?” Mac’s service answered and the breath I didn’t know I held came out in a rush. Damn the timing. I clamped my hand over the mouthpiece. “Hold all thoughts for a sec. This will just take a minute,” I whispered as I listened to the happy young thing answering give her greeting. She had a faint Asian accent. “Hullo. The Phoenix Foundation. This is Mae, how may I help you?” The plain fact that Mac called her service the Phoenix Foundation made me smile. She loved Richard Dean Anderson and this was her homage to his days as MacGyver. “This is Charlie, Mae. I’ve a message for Mac.” “One moment, Ms. Deseu. All right. I’m ready to take it down. Go ahead, please.” “I need you to do this word for word. My battery’s dying, and I’m not sure if I’ll be reachable.” “Uh huh. Exactly as you say, Ms. Deseu. Go ahead.” I could strangle her pertness. The day was much too dreary for this. “Made contact. Safe. Activate tracking, ASAP. Purse and sweater to holder and shoe. Two worries.” “Holder?” she repeated. “Yes.” Mac would know exactly what I meant. “Yes, ma’am. Is that all?” My battery beeped. “One more thing, Mae. BW’s location unknown.” I didn’t know if she heard the last, but I hoped she had. She needed to know I wasn’t with Bobby. My phone beeped one more time and died. Zut! Had I packed my charger?

“Fils d’une chienne!” “Son of a bitch is rather mild, considering. Who’s BW?”

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I walked past him, tossed the phone on the bed as I passed and went back to my post at the window. “My guide.” Danni wanted this view for a reason. Or did someone want her here so they could watch her? If someone was following her as Gregg said, then did they tell her to take this room? Had they placed her here? Discovering the answer to that would get me to her. I knew that. Despite my determination to discover the truth, I shivered. “Charlie, you’ve got to trust me.” I didn’t have to do anything. Still. He had come through. He did know Danni. He knew the area. I didn’t really have any reason not to trust Brock and yet a small part of my conscience wanted to protect the kid. “His name’s Bobby. He works with Mac.” “Ahh, Boy Wonder.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. “You know him?” “Know of him. Kid’s got a heck of a reputation. Danni thought he was just the cheese.” I laughed. The cheese? Bobby would probably like that saying. I clapped my hands together. “So, what you’re thinking but you won’t say is, you think her father’s involved with The Outfit?” He got up. He grabbed the back of the chair and twisted his wrist. The chair wobbled from side to side. He seemed to gauge the movement, time his thoughts. “Am I right?” He sighed and shoved it under the desk. “Yeah. I’d say it, I’d hate to, but I’d say this has the distinct odor of Bevan Dempsey Nolan.” I pulled back the light, gauzy curtain and promptly became weak-kneed at the view. “He’d hurt Danni?” “He would. He has.” I’d kill the bastard if he harmed his daughter. I didn’t care who he was or how untouchable he believed himself. If he had participated in this, he’d never be safe. I swallowed back the bile in my throat, whether from the view or from my loathing of Father Nolan. Every moment I sank further in the mire of The Outfit I pitied Mac more. My memory was jarred to the conversation I had on the airplane with Aidan. “Rhetoric of the uninitiated.” “What?” Brock still stood at the desk, but he looked at me oddly. “Nothing.” I took a deep breath. “Nothing at all. Just something I heard once. It’s not important.” But it was. Brock moved to stand behind me. Though his brow remained creased, he didn’t push the topic. “What do you think she was looking at?” I shook my head. There were a couple three-story buildings, then a few nearly as tall as our hotel. I didn’t see anything special about the view. It looked like a normal city street

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with heavy morning traffic. People on their way to work or home from the night shift, or maybe to visit friends. The cars zoomed by. Tiny people cluttered the walkways. They moved in a steady stream. “If you were her, what would you look for?” he asked as he slipped his arms around me. I leaned back into his embrace. My gaze narrowed as it scanned the vista. “Where can we get binoculars?”

*****

Brock went for supplies. I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle and set to work rummaging through Danni’s belongings. He was right. There wasn’t much there. Danni had her basic clothing, her pads of paper, and her pens. There were two brands she preferred, so she carried those with her wherever she went. I knew she did it, but seeing her belongings spread out like that, so sterile, so limited in scope, seemed odd. I shook my head, wondering how two so very different people could be so close. Then I found it and knew. Our friendship was suddenly crystal clear, as was my resolution to find Danni and bring her home safely. She did have a photograph. It was in the larger of the two bags. Tucked haphazardly into the meshing of the big pocket, it was fairly recent -- taken last Christmas. Though it wasn’t what I was looking for, it was exactly what I needed. The photo was of her and me getting ready for a big fundraiser gala. We were dressed in matching running suits with seaclay masks on our excited little faces. This picture was not something The Outfit should have in their files, nor feel threatened by. What had that fundraiser been for? I frowned. Maybe I needed more fatty acids in my diet. My mind was slipping. It was for her work, not mine. My firm never did anything exciting like that. Shutting my eyes, I pictured the lights, the flash of camera. There had been an orchestra that played heavenly music. Holiday cheer. I sighed. It was all there in my mind. The gala had been beautiful, held at the Detroit Institute of Arts. Big names, exquisite art -- it was incredible. I laughed at the picture. We’d had a blast before, during, and after. The picture was taken when we were getting ready after a day pampering ourselves at the spa. Danni held the camera, her arms outstretched. Big smiles. We were in my walk-in closet, surrounded by clothes, bags, shoes.

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That night, we’d ridden in a black stretch limo sent by the newspaper and each of us had cute dates. Danni had been like a little kid all night, so happy to be home and with her life. Happy in general. She’d just come back from assignment. We’d danced and danced. Champagne was involved. A lot of champagne. With loving hands, I laid the picture on the bed. I smoothed my finger over our faces one last time, tracing the outline of her jaw. There was no way I would stuff that picture back in the bag. Maybe, if I found a way to laminate it, or protect it, then I would, but not until then. I slumped back to the floor and to my discovery. Actually, I mused, if I had my way I’d throw out her bag and get her a real one. This set looked like it had been to Hell and back. In a way I supposed it had. She’d had the same luggage in college. When Danni found something she liked or believed in, she held on tight. No wonder she and Mac hit it off. They were very similar creatures. I folded Danni’s jeans and placed them in the bottom of her suitcase, running my hand along the edges and the seams, just checking. Nothing. Then her sweatshirts and underwear. Even her make-up bag, if one could call it that. A toiletry bag was more fitting. It held so little. She had no jewelry to speak of, just extra socks. She hated to not have on a pair of socks. I’d rather go barefoot and have my mascara. Not Danni. I glanced out the window at the softly falling rain. It had started about twenty minutes after Brock left. It wasn’t a storm. I hadn’t seen any lightning, just rain. I supposed if I grew up in that, I’d want my feet dry and warm as well. The smaller bag had only her dirty clothes tucked inside and a receipt from a dry cleaner in Detroit. I pulled it out and examined it, reading the fading print. It was a receipt from two years ago. I shook my head. The woman blew my mind. I gathered up her notebooks, snatched my purse from near my shoes, noting that my Weitzmans had been ruined by some puddle I’d walked through. And they were my favorite pair. My hands were full or I would have picked them up to mourn, to see if they were salvageable. Shaking my head, muttering to myself that I needed happier climes, I went to the window. With my legs, I knocked and shoved the fat, overstuffed chair into position. When I made it near the coffee table, I deposited the notebooks and my purse. I dragged both the chair and the table so I could sit looking out, just like she might have done. Besides, the lighting was better there, not so gloomy. At the window, I could look out; though the height made my stomach flutter and my knees weak, it was better than sitting in an enclosed box. There, I could see out, and not feel as though I were trapped in a small room with only one real exit. The clock on the nightstand said it was a little past noon. The day seemed like it had stretched on forever.

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The natural light was better by the window. I’d have no trouble sorting through details. I didn’t want to keep the hotel light on in case there was someone, out there, watching. I remembered Aidan’s warning all too well and shivered. I rubbed my forearms until they felt warm. With the growing darkness of the storm, I’d definitely be easy to spot. I wondered where he was. Was he still involved? What had gotten him mired in this muck with the rest of us? I did believe him when he said he had no choice. Over the years and in my very limited dealings with those involved with The Outfit, there were three types of personalities. One. The wannabes. The people who would do whatever it took to try to prove they were brave enough, dumb enough, willing enough to be a part of The Outfit. Two. The proud. Those like the governing members of The Outfit. Johansen, Henderson, Sorrenson, Treadway, and Lippencot. Those who had no conscience about their actions and therefore were incredibly dangerous people. Sociopaths, I believe. Either that or just sadists. Then there were the number threes. Threes were people like Mac, like Bobby, like Aidan, oh hell, like me. People who had no choice. People who just wanted out, but to get out there was a price to be paid. Sometimes, over and over. I could not let that happen. I’d rather die than let them keep Danni. I was half tempted to try to contact Henderson, tell him to take me. I’d search however long it took, just let Danni go and keep me. I blushed at my temporary insanity. Even if they did swap, it would never be enough, they’d have only to threaten me with her life again, and I’d twist tighter in their web. My rational mind saw how the system worked. Organized crime was the ultimate pyramid scheme. There was always hope of something. That dangling carrot hanging just out of reach. But it was elusive and unattainable for most. I needed to find those pictures and the documents. I needed to see them and maybe by looking at them and comparing the information contained therein with the information I knew about the members determine what was so important. I could understand this desperate motivation. Maybe, working with Danni and Mac and Gabe and Bobby and, I smiled, Brock ... all together surely we could turn the tides of this tsunami before there were deaths. As I slumped back into the cushy chair, I checked the face of my watch again. Approximately five hours left until they called me to check my progress. And I had nothing to report. I could tell them I’d found one photograph, though I wouldn’t know why they’d want it. Could I use false information? No. The repercussions of that could be deadly. That would blow rules one and six of my list as well. Where was that list? I searched through my purse and recovered it. I looked at it one more time, making sure I knew my rules.

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1. Don’t get caught trying to do something stupid 2. Don’t align yourself with someone you cannot trust 3. Don’t share more information than you mean to 4. Don’t become a target 5. Don’t become distracted and get caught unaware 6. Don’t get caught trying to be smarter than they think you are 7. Don’t underestimate the enemy 8. Don’t, by any means, get in over your head 9. If you ever get free, don’t get caught again I rose up and shoved it into my front pocket. “I’m so screwed.” What could I discover in five hours? It suddenly seemed not like hours but like minutes and as if it could slip through my fingers without my knowledge. A door slammed in the hallway and I jumped. That was how the hours would slip away without progress. I chided myself and rubbed at my temples. As I did, I examined the items I’d placed on the coffee table. Three of the note pads seemed to be brand new. Only one had pages torn free. Interesting. That was the one I wanted. I held the pad up. Looked to be only one or two pages missing, by the uneven perforations. I didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean much. I needed a pencil. Danni wrote with only pens; something about the integrity of the story, so that was all she had in her belongings. Scavenging through my purse, I came up with a pencil. They were a trick of my trade. Taking notes, research; if someone else’s story wasn’t changing, my research was. “Thank you. Thank you.” I mumbled as I freed it from the hair ties, pens, and one or two sticks of gum all bundled together. If my purse reflected the true nature of myself, it appeared my life needed a thorough cleaning. It was amazing how much stuff I had in there. Using the very dull end of the pencil, I gently scrubbed it over the top page on the pad. Working inch by inch, I moved my hand in slow even movements, careful to not press hard and ruin any word impressions Danni might have left. Calm, alert for any extra dimple that should not be there, I worked and let my mind wander. Occasionally my gaze drifted out the window. I thought a time or two I might have seen a glint in a window in the tall tannish building across the way, but each time I raised my head and focused, there was nothing there. Not that I saw, anyway. Water sluiced down the pane of glass. Malformed rivulets danced sideways and vertically.

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From the top of the page to the middle, I saw nothing. Not even an errant depression appeared on the page. Odd. If pages were torn free, there should be something. I’d never witnessed her ripping sheets free and then leave with only the free pages. Over the years, I’d watched Danni take countless notes. Her script tended to be small and precise, similar to mine, but she preferred to write on something hard. Had the pad been available, she would have used it to write upon. The phone rang and I jumped. I glanced at my Villemont. It wasn’t time yet. I dropped the notebook and pencil, scrambled out of the chair and across the bed, ending in a belly flop to reach the phone before the third ring. With the wind knocked from me, I wheezed out, “This is Charlize.” “Glad to hear it. But three rings? Charlie, you’re slackin’.” “Mac!” I nearly dropped the phone. I couldn’t believe it. Her calling had never crossed my mind and hearing her voice, well, it had never sounded so good. Of course, she’d call. She knew what hotel I was at and by now she’d have tracked down her messages, heard from the Foundation, or at least spoken with Bobby. “Nice to hear from you, too. Damned service has a huge time delay. I’ve gotta talk to them about that. There is a reason I use the --” I cut her off from her rambling. “Where’s Bobby? Is he okay?” She paused, seemed to weigh her response. “He got hung up in London. When he lost you at Heathrow, he ran into a complication or three.” “Yeah, about that, you know what happened there, right?” “Charlie, I need you to be very careful with what you say to me. There could be some sort of device in the room or on the phone or even with the hotel phone system itself where our conversation is monitored.” I supposed there could be, but couldn’t really see how it mattered at this point in the game. “Do you understand?” My gaze darted the room, inspecting the furnishings. Attention immediately went to the faint glow of light from inside the smoke detector. That would be too obvious, and well, how many other people would have rented the room between Danni’s stay and ours? A visual monitor would be too risky. But audio? Even that seemed remote. They had me right where they wanted me. They didn’t need those extra gimmicks. “Charlie?” “Yes. I understand!” I should probably look anyway. “Where is your cell and why isn’t it on?” “I hadn’t really worried about bugs before. They don’t need that. They have me right where they want me.” I stood, one foot placed tippy-toe on the bed, the other braced more firmly on the stable nightstand, and reached up for the detector. Where was the tiered

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headboard when I needed it? The one on our bed sat nearly flush with the wall. It helped nothing. I knew she was waiting for an answer. “Battery’s dead.” “Where’s your charger?” I peeled the face off and looked at the components I could see. Nothing looked amiss. I popped the face back in place. Crumpling on the bed, I let out a sigh. “If there’s a device in the room it really matters little if they listen that way or this. Don’t you think?” I wasn’t about to tell her I didn’t pack the charger. She cleared her throat. “It matters in that if they are listening on the phone they’ll hear what I say as well as your responses. If you’re on your phone they hear only what you say.” “Oh.” Hadn’t thought of that. I picked up the phone and inspected the base of that. Nothing. “If I take the phone apart, will I lose our connection?” “Chances are yes.” Guess that would wait until she and I were done. “Knowing that, shall we continue?” I waited for her to continue and bit my tongue instead of sticking it out. “We know you met with Henderson.” I slid off the side of the bed onto my knees, then down to my stomach so I could look under the bed. When that revealed nothing I started pulling out drawers of the bureau, searching for anything that didn’t look like it should be there. “Yes, I did. Though I don’t think I’d use the term ‘met with,’ per se. That implies I wanted to or had a choice.” She sounded pissed. “I said we know. We also know what he wants.” We? That had to be her and Gabe. How quaint. “Bobby’s doing his best to get to you. He’ll be there before o-five-hundred. Your room. Do not leave or he won’t be able to find you. Are you even listening?” “Of course.” “Then what did I just say, Charlie?” I could almost hear her growl of frustration. It did wonders to lift my spirit. I peeked in the bathroom, but I’d spent a lot of time in there with my bathing and didn’t notice anything untoward. And if some sick bastard got his rocks off on that ... ewww. I kicked the door shut. “Mac, get on with it. I don’t see anything in the bathroom, under the bed, in the drawers, in the smoke detector --” “You took apart the smoke detector?” Ignoring the sarcasm, I continued, “Only way they’re listening is with radar or with something in the phone.” “It’s a transm--. Oh, forget it. Did you find what Henderson wanted?”

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I frowned. She knew everything else. She should know this. It seemed those who acted all-knowing were further out of the loop. “Not yet. Do you know why he wants it?” “I know what he wants. I’m not certain I know everything they believe was included in the envelope, therefore, I cannot conclusively say I know why they want the items back beyond that truthfully it was theirs to start with.” “What about the pictures? What do you know about those?” I asked. “One is of a foreign dignitary in the middle of taking care of a cash-only transaction with Lippencot.” “And the other?” I peeped behind the entertainment console. The light shone through in the slight space between the wall and the furniture. The back of the console seemed smooth. Nothing taped back there. “Charlie, think like you, not like her.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” I slipped under the desk, turned over the desk chair. Nothing there either. She seemed to give up on that, at least for the time being. “The tracking units we’d originally designated for Danni’s use. Where are they? The service said they were placed.” “We’ve got them.” “Both of them?” “Yes. Can you please activate them?” “They’re still broadcasting. I never shut them off. Why are there two different locations?” “Brock’s wearing the other one, but answer my question. What was the second picture of?” “Ahh, so you at least made contact with the past. That should help. Good to know. Brock’s in the position to be able to help you with Danni and with information on her father. Few men knew him as well. I mean, few who aren’t like Father Nolan.” “Mac!” I found it comforting she knew so much about Brock. Mac would have researched anyone connected to Danni, of course. “I’m not certain.” “What?” “There were huge stacks of paper. It wasn’t even one; it was several mountains worth of crap stacked, piled, and thrown all over the office. Danni left with one of those envelopes she’d dug out from somewhere in that pile.” “Bobby said you and she worked this little scheme up. You knew she took it, right?” “I knew she left with a large manila envelope. I didn’t know until after she was on the flight that any pictures had been taken, and then only one picture was discussed.”

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Mon Dieu, she was pissed. Not at me, but I sensed definite anger toward Danni. “To be fair ...” “I don’t want to hear it, Charlie.” I was just going to say that Mac had stole it from The Outfit. It wasn’t really her property, but she was right. Now wasn’t the time. “She’s a journalist and you knew she was doing a story. She has to have proof.” “I said I don’t want to hear it,” her voice sing-songed in my ear. The phone cord didn’t reach where I wanted to go. I considered jerking on it, but that might unplug it. I had it wrapped around my leg and my waist from my climbing about. I set the phone on the bed, while I untangled myself. Mac was still talking when I picked back up. I couldn’t have missed but a second or two. And if it was still her complaining about my backing Danni in the whole confiscating information thing, I didn’t want to hear it. “Don’t lose those. They cost money.” I felt like a child being scolded by her mother. It’s not like she didn’t have a stash of electronic gadgets. It’s not like she couldn’t afford more. “Your tracking units,” I ventured. “They’re safe. They’re hidden in secure locations. Just don’t lose our signal, okay? That might be important.” “Hey. Charlie.” “Hmm?” I was a little out of breath from all my exploration. “You’re doing just fine.” “Thanks.” That meant a lot, especially coming from her. What I didn’t know was how to respond. I felt a knot growing in my throat. There was so much I wanted to say to her, but I didn’t know how to articulate it. “It’s a lot to have thrown at you. I know.” Yeah, I guess she did. And I wished I had the words to tell her about the new respect I had for her, for her work, for her life. And how I admired what she’d done for Bobby. That had been a really commendable action. “Keep your chin up, Charlie. We’re all counting on you.” “Kay” was all that came out of my mouth. “You’ve got friends all around. Okay? Keep your eyes open, and you’ll see them. Listen for clues. Watch. Look. Learn. And most of all remember.” Great, the Mackenzie Yoda on the job. “Remember what I said. Think like you. Not her. Time’s up. Gotta go.” Then she was gone. All I heard was dial tone. Just like that. She hung up. I couldn’t even begin to count all the times in the past four years Mac had hung up on me. And no matter how many times she did it, it still frustrated me.

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To alleviate my anger, I slammed the phone down in the cradle. A resultant half-ring half-bang echoed in the silent room. Worse yet, it didn’t help, it just worried me for a moment that maybe I’d broken the phone. So much for physical outbursts. That was more Mac’s style anyway. I rubbed my temples. She’d said to think like me. What would I do? I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. Carefully, I picked the receiver back up and looked at it. It was a phone. Slowly, laying each piece out in order, I took apart every portion of the phone I could work loose. Then I sat there staring at the spread. Nothing. It was electronic stuff. Wires, caps, twisty things and plastic. I didn’t know what belonged and what didn’t -- if anything, in fact, didn’t belong. Nothing stood out like in the cop shows. “Useless!” I cried, picking up one of the pieces and examining it. I tried to recreate the phone, but the parts didn’t go back together as easily as I’d torn them apart. I’d taken them out in order, but reverse building wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Too late, I realized that I’d effectively broken the phone. The Outfit would call me and I had the room phone in pieces on the bed. My cell phone was dead. They couldn’t get a hold of me now! Oh, yes. Definitely thinking like me! Go, Charlie! I needed to get a new phone promptly. I couldn’t exactly phone for another. There was only the one. The house phone in the hall. I’d go out there, call down to the concierge, and have the bellhop send up a new one. But what about the room? Brock had my key. I wasn’t very clear on where his was. Okay, I hadn’t even asked. I looked for a door stopper but could not find one. The closet! There was always something in there. If nothing else, I could use Brock’s bags to block the door while I went for the house phone. I didn’t see anything, so I grabbed one of my Weitzmans and used it to prop open the door. I sprinted a short distance down the hall and called the concierge. They said they’d send up a new one. How would I explain giving him parts? I just wouldn’t explain anything. I hadn’t said I’d give the other back. I just said I needed a new one. I had a moment of inspiration and asked if Gregg was still on duty. The desk clerk said he was and he would send him with the delivery. Good. I had some questions for him. “Ms. Deseu?” His knock on my door was hesitant.

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Brock was right. The kid was baked out of his ever lovin’ cell and oxygen-starved mind. His legs twitched, literally, the muscles seemed to ripple beneath his jeans. He fidgeted like a first-grader kept from the restroom. “Gregg.” “Your phone, Ms. Deseu.” He held it out as though if he stepped too close to me he might catch something. “Thanks.” But I didn’t take it. I held up a Jackson, waved it. The kid wet his cracked lips and danced from foot to foot. Leading him into my room with the money was just like offering a plea bargain to third-strike felon. His mouth watered and his pupils dilated. “Today might be my last day with a job because of that fancy fella of yours. Askin’ questions, pulling folks aside, blatherin’ on ’til he’s blue in the face. Your Joyce won’t cut it.” “How much will?” Might as well be blunt. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His index finger scratched his thumb incessantly and he seemed to debate how much would be too much to ask for. “A Benjamin would do.” A hundred? No way. “If you lose your job it’s because of your hitting the pipe, not because of us.” “What do you know of it? Whose been talkin’?” I crossed my arms over my chest. Could he not smell himself? Had he checked a mirror lately? “Did yer man tell the bosses?” He crowded in on me. A crazed light lit his eyes, and I worried about the phone still in his tightly clenched hands. “Did he?” “No. He didn’t.” It was hard to stand my ground and not back away as he approached. I was scared of him though I didn’t really have a reason to be. He hadn’t threatened me. I just got a bad vibe from him. Anger and malevolence emanated from him in sharp pulses, similar to that of a desperate criminal who’d just been sentenced. I’d seen that look on men in the courthouse countless times. I pulled out a second twenty-dollar bill. “Two of these, you give me that phone and five minutes of your time. That’s all I ask.” He swiped his hand over his mouth. “Grand.” He held out his hand, on it the phone. I took it and put the money where the phone had been. “Well?” “My ‘man’ said you knew Danni.” “No. That’s puttin’ words in my mouth. That’s not what I told him at all. I didn’t know the skirt. Em. I just noted her talent when she came.” “Just her looks?” I reach for the money. He shoved it into his pant’s pocket. “I noted her because everyone noted her. Male or female. Gobs a flappin’ everywhere in reception that day. Your friend, she flashed that badge of hers around like it mattered.”

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“Her press badge?” I plugged the new phone in. Disconcerted, I became aware of how he watched my movements. He gaze darted around the room, but always came back to the dismantled phone on the bed and my body. After finishing, I pulled out the desk chair, offering it to him. “Is that the badge you’re talking about?” He shook his head, declining the chair. So I sank onto it. “I don’t know anythin’ about a press badge, though she did say she was a reporter. Supposedly of some repute.” Huh? Not her press id? Then what was it? “Em. It looked like an official document.” “What kind?” “I don’t know. Maybe a title to something. Yer five minutes is up.” He turned toward the door. I was up out of my seat in a flash. I grabbed his elbow. “No! You can’t go. I need answers. When you saw her, she was okay? She looked all right?” He nodded and pulled his arm free of my grasp. “When she came in, I talked Evan out of the lift. I wanted the ticket and, em, I wanted to talk to her. Not for the tip. Not for the work. For her. How many chances does a wanker like me talk to a vixen like that?” I didn’t respond. A little nervous. Attraction I understood, but this boy was chemically unbalanced. Not being mean or anything, but the drugs had obviously affected his mind. On top of the adolescent hormones, that had to be hell. “Exactly. She didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know who she was.” “Would that have made a difference?” “Damn straight it would have. I’d have never got your fifty. I’d have never gone to her. Had I been smart, em, I’d have bummed a fag and gone out to smoke.” “But you didn’t.” “No. I carried her bags up here, so to hear her voice, feel her laughter. And she did. Em. I did.” He shook his head and scrubbed his hand over his head as if confused. “What?” “She laughed with me.” He paused. “Not at me.” “Of course not. Why would she laugh at you?” He threw his hands in the air. “Look, ye nit! What am I to someone like her? Ta someone like you? Nothing. Less than nothing. Most of you wouldn’t even be able to say what I looked like and ye know why? Because your snooty noses are pointed up in the air and making eye contact with me is a sin.” I would deny it. But he had a point. Probably he’d been overlooked a time or two by busy guests.

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“Em, even though I could tell your friend was put out about this supposed person following her, everyone in the lobby heard her screeching about it.” In all our years of friendship, I’d never heard Danni screech. “Even though she was angry, very angry to hear her pop’s name mentioned, despite all that, she talked to me.” His brow drew together, and he chewed on his bottom lip. “She took the bags from me. Threw them on the bed and gave me her, em, full attention ...” His voice trailed off. I weighed saying anything, but as the silence stretched, I asked, “What did you and she talk about?” He worried the tip of his booted foot into the carpet. Back and forth and back again. The scuffed tips had been colored in. I frowned, thinking of the polish I had at home that would fix that. From a distance, they appeared in good repair, but up close, if one looked, one could see he needed a new pair and that these were probably almost a size too small. “After she gave me a fiver to show me bosses, she told me to take the twenty she tipped for myself and then fished around in one of her bags and gave me a card with some clinic’s name on it, for rehab. Handed me a pack of smokes and told me I had potential. What the fuck did she know?” He jostled me back and forth as he shoved past me and flung open the door. The heavy door banged against the wall stopper with a thwang. “Father Nolan? When you mentioned him, what did she say?” I blurted the question as one foot stepped over the threshold. He spun on me and shoved me back into the hotel room, up against the wall, holding me trapped. He pinned my collarbone and neck with the length of his surprisingly strong forearm. The bone bit into my throat making it difficult to swallow. All he had to do was move a fraction of an inch, roll his arm and he’d crush my windpipe. His smoky breath puffed in my face. I blinked hard against it. “Don’t throw that name around. Be wise, little bird, or you’ll get yourself killed. What the fuck’s wrong with you flappin’ your gob like that? Can’t you understand what yer messin’ with? Don’t go shoutin’ his name like that!” I tried to nod while I frantically searched with my toes to find some balanced footing. I couldn’t achieve a good pose. I wobbled precariously up on my tiptoes. Holding me there, just over the ground, but not high enough that I couldn’t brace myself ... a little, he poked his head out the door and looked both ways up and down the hall. He didn’t notice anything, I assume. With one foot he held the hotel room door ajar, the other stabilized him. He leaned close to my ear. His breath came in short, hot pants. “She was, em, pissed. She was scared because she was smart and she should be. It wasn’t a half past before she left the hotel and didn’t come back. She still hasn’t.” A tear slipped free and spilled down my cheek onto his wrist. It disturbed him, I could tell. The pressure on my neck increased. His pale gaze flitted down to it. For a long moment

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emotion warred in his troubled expression, as if he debated ending my life for the transgression. He growled and slapped his free hand hard against the wall, just beside my head. The reverberation hurt my skull. “If yer half as smart as you act, babby, you’ll drop this and walk away.” He caught my gaze and held it. “Don’t look back. Pack your shite and leave.” “I can’t,” I choked. “She’s my sister.” “Sweet Mother Mary.” He dropped me as though the touch of my skin scalded him. He wiped his hands on the front of his pants. Over and over again. He looked like he might get sick. Gulping large amounts of air, he began shaking his head. He ran both of his hands through his hair, then clasped his head between them. “He’ll kill me now. He’ll fuckin’ kill me for sure. One was bad enough, but now two.” I croaked, “Two?” His jaw opened and snapped shut. He continued to back away from me until he smacked up against the wall. “I swear, I didn’t know you were his.” What? Whose? The sweat ran down his cheeks in tiny rivulets. The sickly sweet smell permeated the room, mingling with the stale smoke from his clothes and another odd smell not immediately discernible. “Christ, I’m so so sorry.” “Gregg.” I tried the familiarity to make him snap out of it. “They knew I came here. They knew I talked to her. Then him. They told me to talk to him.” His chest rose and fell rapidly. “And now you, I’m dead. I’m so dead.” If I wasn’t scared enough, his panic fed mine. He looked ready to bolt. He knew something, and I had to get that information from him. It was life or death. “You aren’t dead, Gregg. I’ll help you. Tell me what you know.” “Two’s too much! Christ, I didn’t know you were Father Nolan’s.” “Bevan Nolan is nothing to me, but Danni’s everything.” I grabbed his pant leg. There was that smell. I recognized it as a mixture of diesel fuel and fish. The docks? “Do you know where they have her? Where they’re holding her? Please tell me if you do. I have to find her.” He continued shaking his head. He’d paled considerably and he rocked slightly. Blinking repeatedly, he chanted over and over. “I’m dead. I’m a dead man. I waited. Thought it would help. It won’t. Can’t even get the money now. I’m dead. Don’t be a dead man, too. Sliding closet, under new. You show me. I’ll show you.” “Please. If you know something, tell me.” My voice didn’t sound my own. It was more of a wail. “You’re not making any sense.” That seemed to shake him. He looked down at me and kicked free of my grasp. “I don’t know nothin’, bird,” he said, then ran out the door. It slammed shut behind him. Right in my face.

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I crumpled to the floor in the small entryway, telling myself not to cry. Every part of me shook -- my stomach to my fingers. In the hall, another door banged shut, and I scrambled back away from mine. I kept close enough I could kick the door shut if someone tried to enter, but far enough away I could look under the door slat and monitor the shadows in the hallway. I hooked my watery arms around my knees and drew them tight to my chest. He knew. He knew where she was. I raised a shaky hand to my throat. Gently, I tested the skin. It didn’t hurt. I pulled the collar out and looked down. It was an angry scarlet, but I didn’t think there was permanent damage. It hadn’t hurt that badly. Scared the bejeezus out of me, yes, but not really hurt. I glanced back down. It probably wouldn’t even leave a bruise, not through the heavy sweater and because he used the flat of his forearm. I swallowed. The action was still a bit uncomfortable, but I assumed with time that too would fade. I couldn’t talk myself out of it any longer. I let the tears course down my cheeks. Maybe if I allowed myself a good bawl, I’d get it out of my system. I could then stand tall and proud and finish this horror story. Burying my head in my knees, I muffled a sob, but the action forced my eyes shut and in that horrible instant I saw Gregg’s face again, distorted by rage, frustration, and something else I couldn’t identify. He’d done that to someone before. The action said he was accustomed to intimidation without leaving evidence, and he wasn’t even Outfit. Or was he? Blindly, I stared at the door. The light outside remained steady. No one approached. He’d been careful with how hard he’d pushed and where. I knew. I’d seen the restraint in his blue eyes, felt it in how he’d held me firm, brutal even but not lethal. If he’d lost it, he could have broken my windpipe or reached up with one of his hands and snapped my neck. He could have walked out and no one would be the wiser until Brock came back, or God forbid, Bobby showed. Gregg was just a kid, an acne-faced kid. He wasn’t even a man yet. That horrified me all over again. Shivers overtook me. My shoulders shook, my teeth chattered, and it felt as though an Arctic northern blew directly down my shirt. With my clothing I should have been warm, but no amount of blankets or clothing would warm a soul. I’m not sure how long I sat there like that, dumbfounded, confused, scared senseless. I rocked and mumbled old cheer-chants, calming myself, trying to think straight instead of consider that boy and how scared he was, too. That was too much to consider. The pain and injustice! Why had boys like him, like Bobby, become enmeshed in such atrocity? He might be a punk. He might be young, but he wasn’t innocent. He also knew more about Danni than he admitted to, but I’d looked into his pale eyes and I’d seen a terrified child. Try as I might, I couldn’t shake that image. I’d not meant to rile him. I’d known when he entered the room that he was sketchy. Brock had said as much. The drugs, the age, the fact that Brock had already spoken with him

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regarding his meeting Danni. He would probably lose his job, but that wasn’t our fault. He’d made poor choices. I would not feel badly. I just wanted answers and, dammit, I knew he had at least one or two of them. His words played and replayed in my mind like a scratched CD. Then Mac’s words began filtering in over his in a loud refrain. A disturbing remix. Think like me, huh? Okay. If I were thinking and not feeling I’d want evidence. I’d look for incongruence or odd phrasing in his speech pattern. He’d said sliding closet. No. I looked up to see my shadowed reflection in the floorlength mirror of the closet staring back at me. No lights illumined the room and in the dying light of day I looked like an apparition, my normally pale skin nearly translucent. My blonde hair fluffed in disarray. I noted again how nicely my mascara held up. That helped. The doors to the closet slid from side to side rather than a door that opened into the room. I supposed the convenience was a space-saver. Plus it held a dual function; the doors were mirrors. That helped clutter as well. Too easy? On unsteady hands and knees I crawled over and shoved the door to the side. It slid easily on well-maintained runners. In the corner, on the floor, Brock’s bags sat neatly awaiting his return. I looked up. It was difficult, for tears still trickled down my cheeks. The closet was dark, and my vision blurry, but nothing seemed out of order. Our two jackets hung on hangers. A garment bag for the laundry hung there as well. It was tiny, only deep enough for the width of a hanger with a winter coat. Under new. Under new what? Carpet? The entire room, I had been told, was one of their newly renovated rooms. I supposed the hospitality business would be in the need of constant upgrades and with the trends and fashion as versatile as they were and the steady stream of customers, new carpet, bedding and the like were probably standard operating procedure. Well, it most certainly wouldn’t investigate itself. I ran my hand around the edges of the small rectangle space, crying out and pulling my hand back as a tack snagged my finger. Two minute drops of blood stood out in stark contrast to the pale white of my fingertip. I scowled at the offending piece of carpet. It stuck up a little, there at the edge, as though someone had tried to secure it in a hurry or in the dark. Wait. Had I pulled it up when I jerked my hand, or had it been that way before? Using the back of my sleeve to wipe my eyes, I brushed away the remainder of my tears, commanded myself to stop the nonsense, and reached for the spot in the carpet.

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Chapter Thirteen My hand shook. It didn’t seem attached. It was like a show. I watched it. I slipped my fingers down the wall to the carpet, wriggling my fingers so they were behind the extended piece. I took a firm hold of the carpet. It seemed surreal to be on my hands and knees in a closet in Belfast pulling up carpet ... if my mother had only lived to see this! There so was going to be a fine on my credit card. Wait, Brock rented the room. For the first time in at least an hour a smile tugged at my lips. I sniffed and jerked. Hard. The carpet ripped free with a horrific tearing sound. I’d given such a mighty tug, the momentum carried me off my knees, toppling me to my bottom. I landed with a thud. A whoof of air knocked from my lungs and dust rose in the confines of the closet, causing me to start sneezing. My head tangled in the bottom of my jacket, the more I fought and twisted the worse it became. I ducked and my head slipped loose. It took a moment to regain my composure. I must be a sight! For once, I was thankful I didn’t possess Danni’s curls. Had those gotten hooked on a button ... I cringed at the image in my mind. My nose itched, but I didn’t let go of the carpet. My fingers dug into the edge, holding it aloft as much as I could actually lift it. It was heavier than I’d imagined. I’d never done anything like this before. My stomach churned a little with the close confines of the wardrobe and with the stifling smells of glue, dust, cleaning agents, old cologne, and detergent. I had to climb all the way into the closet so I was situated along the length of the interior. It was difficult to maneuver in the cramped space but I was giving it the old college try. Every time I moved, the carpet seemed to want to flop back down. I didn’t see any way to view what was behind it. Not the way I was working it. I worried my bottom lip. Time was running out.

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Instead of going forward and trying to peek over the top of the carpet and see at an angle -- which was impossible -- I backed as far as I could to the other end of the space while still holding on. “Here goes nothing,” I said and with every ounce of strength I could muster, I pulled. More of the carpet ripped free. Not much, but more. I spooled it back and repeated the procedure several times. I had the width of the piece free from the wall, sweat rolled down my face, stung my eyes, and I itched everywhere but I couldn’t let go of the carpet. The muscles in my arms burned, and I knew my nails were chipped. I didn’t even want to contemplate how filthy they were. I could envision the dark lines along the crescent. Those were the things I could feel. I couldn’t see the detail. What was in that closet with me that I couldn’t see? What bugs called the space their home? “Don’t think about it, bugs I mean. If there is one or more they’re just trying to get along. I won’t mess with them if they will so kindly not mess with me. Carpet. That’s what we are here for,” I muttered. “Once more. Just once more. That should do it.” I didn’t think I could do it, but my voice sounded stronger than I felt. My grip slipped but I tugged again, then hurriedly climbed on the small bit I’d pulled back so it wouldn’t flap down back into place. Small triumph! I had a new respect for the men and women who worked in flooring. The floor revealed, sort of, a thin pinkish Styrofoam thing was underneath the carpet. Fresh tears stung my eyes. “How many layers are there?” I reached out and much to my surprise the pink stuff came right up as if it had not been secured down at all. I frowned. There, lying on the discolored and glue-stained floor, was a large manila envelope. A gust of breath kicked up more particles of ... something. I coughed. I grabbed the envelope and tossed it out of the closet. I dropped the padding back in place. Glad to be free of that nasty weight. My pulse was going a mile a minute. I had it! Just then I heard voices in the hall and stopped scuttling about. My heartbeat thudded in my ears and my gaze darted to the envelope now sitting peacefully in the entryway. If anyone came through the door, they’d see it. It was the first thing they’d see. What if someone did come in? Why would they be there? Not for anything positive, of that I was certain. I could hide in the closet. If I pulled the door shut, chances were in my favor no one would look there. Why would they? They’d see the envelope, take that and leave. Maybe they would go so far as to look in the bathroom, but the lights were off, in the room and the bathroom. Most normal people don’t hide in the closet with no one else in their room. I debated my abhorrence for tight spaces with how important the envelope was. I won’t lie. It was tempting to remain exactly where I was. Even though the space was cramped, the odds favored that I’d be safe.

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Cowardice was not one of my rules, per se, but getting caught and having to do what they wanted me to do wasn’t either, so, I stared at the innocuous envelope lying there. Inside, it held articles that threatened lives. Lives I cared about more than my own. I crawled off the carpet and it flapped back to its position against the wall. Hurriedly, I scurried out of the closet before I could change my mind. I grabbed the envelope and tossed it with a flick of my wrist not wanting it on my person in case I got caught. It soared under the bed, disappearing almost completely. It must have caught on something for a small corner of the envelope peeked out. The voices were near. At least two men. They spoke in low tones. What was this? It was a hotel. People came and went, all hours of the day and night. At different times, of course, there would be traffic in the halls. It was inevitable; chances that they were coming for me were slim. My life had turned into a huge conspiracy. I’d started to chuckle when the door handle turned.

Merde! My gaze dropped from the doorknob to the floor where I saw a long shadow darken the threshold. The men’s voices weren’t conversing in normal tones. They were hushed, secretive. Brock? He’d use the key or knock. Right? Why would he be with someone else? He hadn’t told me about meeting up with anyone else. The handle twisted again. Words I didn’t understand came through the door, mumbled. They were speaking in Gaelic. The muted tones were lyrical in nature, but they spoke quickly. The cadence seemed off. I jumped up. Straight up. Literally, I had not pulled that move since cheerleading back in high school. I didn’t know I still had it in me. I’d been on my knees and I pushed up to a standing position, landing cat-like on the balls of my feet all in one fluid motion. My yoga instructor would be so pleased. I took one shaky step and latched the security lock as quietly as I could. The rattling doorknob covered any sound I made. I hoped. I dropped down into to what at one time might have been the start of a push-up. I lowered my body all the way to the floor, then placed my hands on the door for extra protection should whoever it was get the door open. I positioned my body like a doorstop, my head down near the crack, and tried looking out. My eyes burned and I couldn’t see; sweat and dust still irritated them. Every time I thought that what lay beyond the door started to focus it blurred again or moved. Suddenly a

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scuffed boot came clearly into view. It kicked the door right near my head. I clamped one hand over my mouth, suppressing a scream. The black marker fill showed more clearly in the overhead lights or maybe it was because that was all I could see. Gregg’s boots. “Ye said this bleedin’ key would work! Ni moran thu.” “It did! It should! It’s the master. I swear. I copped the night guard’s set.” Gregg’s voice sounded high pitched and stressed. “You’ve made a hash of this, boyo, and you know what happens when he’s not pleased, and he won’t be.” “Try it again,” Gregg urged. “I left her scared.” The rattling stopped. I’d have given anything to have been able to see those men, their expressions. I wanted desperately to know who Gregg was with. Something about the way he stood reminded me of the squat mat at The Crown pub, but there was no way to know for certain unless I could see him. “Did you hurt her?” “I didn’t belt her or anything like that. I braced her a wee. That’s all.” “You better pray you didn’t mark her. He’ll kill ya.”

He who? Was the man referring to Bevan Nolan or Henderson? “I didn’t, but she was vexed. You know the kind. Pretty and easily ruffled. That’s her. She’d either pull herself together and go find that man of hers or she’d fall apart in the room. Either way you win.” There was silence for a moment until Gregg spoke again. “If you can just crack it a wee bit, em, we can, em, bust in the rest of the way. With both our shoulders we could do it.” I pushed my body as tightly to the wall as I could, praying that the door was built solidly enough that when they pushed, it would not give way. I craned my neck, looking back into the room. If they made their way in was there anything I could use as a weapon? Frantically I scanned the bed, the open closet, the piles of Danni’s belongings. My shoes were the sharpest object in the room. I debated reaching for one, but then reality kicked me in the face, quiet literally. Gregg’s boots banged against the door again accompanied by a slew of disgusting expletives. I stopped searching. One high heel against two attackers? I’d succeed in pissing them off. Nothing more. “People will know what we’re about if we break the door down. If she just disappears on the street? So what? Another tourist missing in a city of nearly half a million. That would be it. Horrible shame, that. Foreigners should pay better mind to their surroundings. Coincidence about her friend, but she was an investigative reporter working on the drug scene. When you put yerself in that position ... See what I’m saying, Gregg?” “I see yer wasting time.”

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“Loll and bad on them, but the authorities couldn’t prove anything. Fair play to us. We could even have our people start rumors that we’d seen them together. That they’d hooked up after all. Maybe they were on the lam or just on vacation. I tell ya, people would believe it. Soon they’d forget, but if we break a door down in a prestigious hotel, this will demand an investigation,” the other reminded, but he jiggled the doorknob despite his objections. “Shut yer hole and do it! No bit of slash is going to ruin my life!” My gaze left the shoes and went to the window. It was suicide sealed. The only way into the room and out of it was that door. I was trapped. I couldn’t get out, but they could quite possibly get in. “I still think this is a bad idea.” Gregg’s voice rose to a shout. “I don’t give a damn what ye think. We’ve got a job to do. Quit flappin’ yer gob and get to it!” “If he knew we were leaving sign that can trace to us ...” The unknown man had the door partially free. Their key did work. It slipped open a little. The door shoved against me. “This is yer fault, boyo. Don’t think I’ll forget it. You had her in your hands.” I made myself heavy, thinking of lots of rocks. If intent were action, I would not let the door open at all. It pushed, but not enough that they would know it really opened. I stilled, becoming an invisible, unmovable obstruction. In the distance, the elevator chimed. “Run!” They said it in unison. I propped myself up on my forearms, lifted my head, and listened. The heavy, hasty retreat of running feet pounded off in the direction of the emergency staircase. The shadows that had blocked the doorway disappeared. I cocked my head and laid it on the floor, closed one eye, trying to see better. From what I could discern, for all intents and purposes it looked as though they’d really left. Scared off by the elevator. Rightly so, who’d want to be discovered breaking into a guestroom? Maybe Gregg was smarter than he looked. Had they made it into the room I’d have screamed. I’d have screamed bloody murder. Between clenched teeth, I expelled my breath, my lungs hurting from having held it so long. I rolled to my side and sat. I stretched my legs and my arms. Another shadow clouded the threshold. Before I could tuck and roll back in place, the door rattled and opened as far as the safety latch allowed. “Charlie! Open the door, it’s me.” Brock’s firm confidence elated me. “Just a second.” “What the hell are you doing?” He tried to peek in through the gap in the door. I knew he couldn’t see me, but that didn’t keep him from trying.

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“I’ve got to shut the door and release the safety lock. Let go.” He grumbled something but pulled the door closed himself. I used the doorknob to heave myself to standing then flipped the latch and stepped back. I hurried over to the bed, bent and picked up the envelope, trusting he’d figure it clear to come back in. He did. “What was that all about? You knew I’d be back. Didn’t ye? I mean I thought we cleared all that up this mornin’. I can’t always be tellin’ y--” He looked up and his gaze met mine. The sentence died on his lips. “What’s wrong? What happened? What’s that you’ve got all over yer face?” Where to start? I used my sleeve to wipe at my face. It needed dry-cleaning anyway. Since the shirt was dark I had no idea what all came off with the motion, but I think I got whatever had drawn his attention. Once again, I was thankful for the low illumination of late daylight. “Charlie?” He hadn’t worn a jacket. It still hung in the closet. I didn’t know how he could stand the weather without one. His cheeks were ruddy. He rubbed his hands together as if to stimulate the circulation and make them warm. He dropped the thick black bag onto the bed, then sat. Part of me wanted to ask him to hold me, to take me in his arms. It wanted to run to him to crawl into his lap and rest my head on his broad shoulder, let him make the darkness disappear. Make all the wrongs right, that’s what I wanted, but I knew he alone could not do that. The other part, the stronger part, appreciated his giving me space. I was still pretty skittish and though I desperately desired that contact, I didn’t know what would happen if I were actually offered it. So, I accepted his gift of understanding with an open heart and mind. “Well.” I scratched my forehead, cringing when I saw the state of my nails. They looked horrid. I brushed past him and into the lavatory to wash some of the grime off. “I’ve been busy.” He folded his arms across his chest and made himself comfortable on the bed, kicking his shoes off and crossing his feet at the ankle. Somehow, he made closed-off body language seem inviting. “I went through Danni’s stuff.” I called from the bathroom. The water amplified my voice. “You were right, there wasn’t much there. Just that picture there.” I dried my hands on the front of my jeans as I came back out. I pointed and he picked it up, smiling. “Then I started looking for a clue or something in her notepads, but got interrupted when Mac called.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. Bobby will be here this afternoon. He got hung up in London on business.” “What time?” “About forty minutes from now.” My how time flies ...

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Brock glanced at the nightstand. “Before they call?” I nodded. “Should be, if he’s on time. It’ll be nice for you to meet him. He’s a good guy.” I sank into the overstuffed chair. I pulled my legs up into the seat with me and pushed my hair back from my face. I knew I had to choose my words carefully. “Mac thought there might be some sort of listening device here, so I searched the room.” He looked around. “And?” Embarrassed, I admitted, “Yeah. So, I, uh, when we got off the line, I took the phone apart but I didn’t know how to put it back together.” He laughed. “Not so funny when I freaked and realized that I might miss Henderson’s phone call.” Brock sobered. “It was a stupid thing to do. I mean how am I supposed to know what belongs? I’m not into electronics. It was easy to look around the room for things that might be off. If there were a little black box, that would stand out, but in something already made up of stuff? I never really stood a chance. So I called downstairs and asked for another.” “You said the phone was dismantled.” His forehead wrinkled quizzically. “What did you do with it? I can just imagine the face on the bellboy.” “You’re sitting on part of it.” Much to his credit, he didn’t move an inch. “That explains it then. Thought I remembered the bed a bit more comfortable last night, though that could have just been because you were in my arms.” A blush heated my cheeks. “I see you solved the problem.” He inclined his head toward the replacement phone. “Well done.” “Thanks. I also found the manila envelope.” He lurched forward, diving my direction so he was belly-down across the bed. His sinewy body made the king suddenly seem much smaller. “Away on! What’s in it?” Carefully, I held the envelope up. Straight up, as in, in the air in front of me, but not out toward him. “I haven’t had a chance to look.” “Ach, what have you been doing then?” He propped his chin in his palms. His gaze darted to the envelope and back to my face. It was hard on him. I understood. Should I tell him what I’d been through while he left me alone or forget it and just find out what was in the envelope? Forty minutes wasn’t much time at all. We could use that entire time figuring out what the contents were, or we could wait until Bobby arrived. It might be good to see the expression his face when we looked inside. “Did you check out the building?”

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“Aye. It took a bit of diggin’ about but The Outfit does indeed rent out a portion of that building across the way. I’d wager it wasn’t Henderson himself watching Danni or you for that matter, but one of The Outfit’s men has been there on and off for several months now.” I suppressed the urge to cast a brief glance back over my shoulder and out the window, suddenly very glad I’d not been more animated with the envelope. My body, head, and the overstuffed chair should block it from anyone’s view. They might not know we had it yet. “Did you go to the floor?” “Ach! No! I’m not stupid, and I’d like te think you’d not have gone up there either, but I’m starting to worry.” With good reason. I would have. “I did purchase the binoculars so we can check though. The day’s overcast enough we should be safe to have a wee gander. But first ...” He pointed to the envelope. “... will you be openin’ that? That container is what all this is about. Let’s have a peek.” I shook my head. “Not until we know who is watching. If they are over there watching, which I think they are, they’ll know something is up if we close the blinds. They’ll also know we know they’re watching and that ups the stakes. It might even alter their timeframe. I’m not willing, not after this afternoon, to turn on the lights. Not just yet anyway.” “What are you talkin’ about? Charlie?” When he said my name like that, as if he were humoring a disruptive child, I didn’t want to explain anything. I felt foolish enough; I didn’t need his reprimand. The way he questioned me made me cringe. It reminded me of my father. No. This was different. Very different. He didn’t know what had gone on. How could he? Still, the fear was still so fresh in my mind. The superior no-we-can’t-do-that attitude on top, I had a hard time accepting it. “What happened and don’t give me any more of your bullshit run around. Talk to me.” I slipped the envelope between the cushioned armrest and my leg. Close, but not in the direct line of vision for either of us. Protected by the only thing I had left -- my body. My pride was sure the hell gone. Repeatedly, I’d seen my skills and knowledge meant next to nothing in this warped world of bizarre honor, pacts, alliances, and above all greed. “Well?” Out of sight, out of mind. Not really. It seemed the contents seared my leg. I wanted desperately to open it but until I knew for sure, I could not let anyone know what we had. Brock was relatively new to The Outfit thing. I still didn’t know what I was doing. But Bobby, he’d be there soon. It could wait a bit until then. I had to protect that envelope at all costs, even at the expense of my curiosity. “Dammit, Charlie! You’ll give a man a complex!”

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My hands flailed uselessly. I looked at them. Could they tell the story for me? Make Brock understand? They still trembled. How Mac had ever managed to keep a steady hand after her years of involvement was astonishing. My four years of “involvement” had meant nothing. I’d discovered things, but learned nothing. Yet in just over twenty-four hours I’d learned, and what I’d learned terrified me. I tried to focus on Brock’s handsome face, the angular cut of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell into place even when he pushed it back from his face, but it didn’t work. Feelings of horror and utter helplessness crashed down on me. My voice was weak when I finally spoke. “When I called down and reported I was having a problem, I specifically asked the concierge for Gregg to deliver the new phone.” “No,” came his response, whispered in disbelief. His arms slipped to his sides. “Actually, I asked if he was still employed, because this morning you said that he might not be because of, well, his problem!” Brock’s voice grew in volume and force. “Why the bloody hell would you do that, woman! I told you everything earlier. Did ye not believe what I said? Did you think I’d lie to you? Or were you trying to get yerself killed?” “I had a few questions of my own.” I lifted my chin. Funny someone else should ask me that. Not funny ha ha, but funny perplexing. I had no desire to die. I very much wanted to live to see all my tomorrows. I was not adventurous by nature. I was no James Bond. I was more of a Shaggy and Scooby. Well, maybe Velma, not because I wanted to be involved in the thick of things, but I did want to solve things, investigate, learn. One of the thin white scars on his chin puckered at his frown. There was another thin scar near his hairline that did the same thing. I’d not noticed them before. I wondered why. “What yer sayin’ is you didn’t trust me.” “No,” I denied the accusation. How could he think that? I’d spent the night making love to him. That indicated a form of trust. I told him what I knew, well, most of what I knew about Danni. Surely that indicated trust! The pulse at his temple quickened. “Aye. That’s exactly what yer saying. Try to sugarcoat it however you like, but that is what you said, and I thought we were past this.” Feeling safe but livid I jumped up out of the seat. “No. It’s not. I’m telling you I had questions I’d like to see answered as her family and her friend. I have every right to that! Dammit, I need that! I’m saying that there are things I needed to hear with my own ears. That’s what I’m saying.” He didn’t so much as bat a lash. “Tell me, did you wait until I was on the lift before you began yer snooping or did you actually give me time ta get out of the building?”

“Vous fils-de-une-chienne arrogante! Je t'ai déjà dit ce qui s'est produit. N'écoutez-vous pas un mot simple que je dis?” “English, Charlie, English.”

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I forced my tirade to a few words between clenched teeth. “This has nothing to do with you.” “It has everything to do with me,” he countered, rising from the bed with a start. “No.” I shook my head and held my ground though his quick movement had made me flinch and take a step backward. “It doesn’t.” I softened my voice and went to him. I gave him a brief hug, squeezing tight before pulling away. “This is hard enough, will you just listen to me, please. I know what I did was foolish. Believe you me, I know! I know I took risks I shouldn’t have, but I can’t change that now and yelling at me or accusing me will not change anything.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he nodded. “You’re sure? You’ll sit back and let me explain, or try to?” “Aye. I’ll listen, but I don’t see how you can possibly explain yourself. Go ahead.” He took my place in the chair, his strong fingers trailing over the tip of the envelope. He tapped his index finger on it. I let it go. Maybe that would prove I trusted him. Probably not. “I’m not going to explain myself, but I will tell you what happened.” I poured myself a shot of water from the half-empty carafe. I threw it back wishing it was something stronger. “They said he was still here, that he was still on duty for that matter. I thought it was because I’d asked about him, but I learned that ‘they’d’ approved of it. Don’t ask who they are. Just listen.” He offered a curt nod and waited. Bless his heart. I wanted to go to him. I wanted us to comfort one another again. I wanted his strength and his size to hold me, embrace me, make me feel protected. I wanted to bury my head in the crook of his neck and tell him the story that way, hidden, safe; but I knew I couldn’t. As much as I’d enjoyed our time together, I still was very much on my own. Besides, what I had to tell him didn’t really fit into the “hold me” category. As my mother would have said, it fit more into the “jerk a knot in your tail feather” category. Telling him that I offered Gregg money was dismissed without so much as a second thought. It would not do. “I told him I had some questions. He agreed to answer them, within reason. Essentially, he said he found Danni hot. His carrying her bags wasn’t only for the tip, and not just to look at her either. I don’t know. The impression I received was more along the lines of he wanted a piece of her goodness.” Even as I said it, I wrapped my arms around my torso and hugged, warding off a chill. That was exactly the impression I had. “That sounds remotely serial killerish.” “He’s away in the head. The pipe’s unsettled him, but I told you that earlier.” Brock shook his head and frowned as if he wasn’t terribly certain of my stability.

Wait, I thought. Just wait. “I know. And you’re right. So right. When you said he was a bit off, I took it more like, I don’t know, sedated.”

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“I guess you found out differently.” “I did. And he is unstable. He’s cracked out. He’s stressed. At the end of the proverbial rope, for sure, but there’s more to him than that.” Brock’s frown intensified. “He said ‘they knew’ he talked to you, Danni, and me. Like ‘they’ approved it before he was allowed, and he was scared of something.” He leaned forward. “What?” I searched my mind. What had he said? “He said she had some badge with her that she was flashing around like it meant something. I asked if it was her press ID, but he said no, he didn’t think so. He thought that it was a title or something. He did say it looked official. Do you know anything about that?” Brock looked upset. I didn’t know if it was because I’d learned something he hadn’t, because he didn’t know what the document was, or if he was still angered by my talking to Gregg. He mumbled, “No. I don’t know.” “Okay. He said that he, um.” I gently rubbed my hand over my collarbone and cringed. It was tender. Maybe there would be a mark. “He said he wanted to talk to her and she obliged him. Like you said, she told security, reception and pretty much the entire lobby that she had been followed.” I grew quiet. “And?” “The problem is he knew who followed her.” “Who!” Rage empowered the word into a shout. It was my turn to shrug. “I didn’t get that information either. He said she gave him a card for rehab.” “Aye. Chattin’ it up with the tender I heard she’d contacted Narconon. She was going to write a piece about the substance abuse problems facing teens in Northern Ireland. Huffing’s become a major problem, but the crack and marijuana are both on the rise as well. Apparently, she’d handed out quiet a few cards. Save one, lose hundreds.”

But, Danni would say, we got that one! Sounded just like her. Drugs had always been a sensitive issue for Danni. Her father had been involved in drug trafficking. I’d never learned all the details, but as a trigger point, Danni worked hard for the liberation of those she called “chemically enslaved.” “The conversation agitated him and he tried to leave.” Brock sat up straight. “I don’t much like the sound of that. What do you mean tried?” “I wasn’t through. I had one more question I had to ask.” I couldn’t look him in his beautiful turquoise eyes as I admitted my actions. I stared at the blank TV screen, seeing Gregg, and my whole conversation replayed in slow motion. “I asked something about Bevan.”

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“Sweet Mary, you didn’t!” He threw his hands in the air. “I can’t believe my ears; you are trying to get yourself killed.” “No, I’m trying to save Danni’s life, and I’d appreciate a little compassion rather than yelling at me and trying to make me feel foolish.” “I’ll be compassionate all right. At yer funeral.” He was suddenly beside me, shaking me by my shoulders. “Dammit, Charlie. Look at me. I’ve just found you. I can’t lose you and Danni both!” “She’s not lost!” I shouted. “No, not yet and maybe not at all, but you’re here. You’re within my grasp, and I’m not letting go.” He pulled me to him. That was it. I crumbled. I fell into his embrace. I was so vulnerable, the words spilled from me. “He freaked out. He threw me up against the wall and held me there.” “What!” He tensed, but then relaxed as if not wanting to startle me further. He shook his arms out a little. He held me as if I were a newborn, precious, tender, and delicate. “He could have killed me. I know he could have. I saw it in his eyes.” Brock stroked my hair and back, rocking slightly. “’Tis okay, luv. You’re here. Right now you’re safe. It’s how I’ll keep you.” But for how long? “I’ll take care of you,” he vowed. It would be so simple to take the easy way, to close my eyes and believe the conviction in his voice, the sincerity of his words. I could make my mind participate in the ruse, but not my heart, not my gut. Those both told me he’d try to keep me safe and protected, but this wasn’t up to him. My thoughts darkened as I lay cradled in his arms. A man of his position, so obviously accustomed to making things right, to being in control, both concepts near and dear to my heart, this had to be hell on him. My imprudent actions were making it worse. There I was, one more domino out of place. Frustrating. I tilted my head, gazing up at him. “I know you’d try.” He tried to cut me off, but I silenced him with a brief kiss. I framed his strong jaw with my palms, delighting in the roughness of his stubble, in having someone to share my troubles with. Our lips barely brushed each other but the action steeled my resolve. It was as if I actually felt his strength infuse my very shaky spirit. Heat surged into his gaze and the blue of his eyes darkened from the color of calm seas to storm-tossed waters. His lips opened, so I placed on finger on them to keep him from speaking. “I’m not insulting your manhood, but there are some things that we, regardless of desire, cannot control. Hard to face. Harder to accept. Hardest to work with. I know. But we have to do it. It’s the way of things. It’s the way of this. It’s the only way we’ll all come out okay.” I turned and straddled his hips. I clasped my ankles behind his back and looked deep

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into his eyes. “We’ve got to face this together, if we’re going to make it out generally unscathed. Deal?” With resignation, he sighed. “What are the terms and conditions of your proposal?” I laughed. He seemed almost pathetic. It was cute. “Proposal? I suppose this is worse than marriage. You have to actually do what I say.” He smiled. “No one said marriage was bad, little angel, but I was referring to a business proposition. What’s yer plan?” I could call it a blonde moment. Or I could call it what it was, wishful thinking. When had the possibility of a future, a long-term future, even entered my mind? I couldn’t waste time thinking about a personal life that may or may not happen. This was life or death, but fantasy was so much nicer. “We work together for everything we’re able.” “Agreed.” “We have to tell each other everything.” Almost everything, I silently amended. “What we don’t know could get us killed, or Danni.” “Does that mean you have more te tell me?” I wasn’t keeping anything important from him. I hit on the highlights. He didn’t need to know about the little, stupid slips. He should hear areas of expansion, growth, and potential. He had to believe in me as much as I believed in him. And I did. “No. I think we’re on the same page. You agree?” His lips pursed together. “Agreed. Now let me see where he held you.” “It’s not that big of a deal.” I started to unhook my ankles, but he clasped my thighs in a vise-like grip. “Show me. Were you scared? Could have killed you how?” With trepidation, I pulled down the front of my sweater. I swear red-hot anger flashed in his yes. “Ye just give me ten minutes with him.” A scrapper? “There’s no need for that. We got what we needed. I’m fairly certain we’ll never see him again.” Brock traced the outline of three small bruises forming over the ridge of my collarbone. The pale skin still presented red, but underneath the broken vessels had started to turn an ugly purple. There were rough calluses on his thumb I hadn’t noticed before, gently scraping my skin, making it tingle. “Just ten,” he said. Trying to mollify him, I said, “If there’s an opportunity, I might look the other way. But your personal quest cannot interfere.” “Deal. Everybody’s got to learn sometime. I wanna be his teacher. That’s two of my women he hurt, threatened, or endangered!” Surprisingly, I didn’t blame him. “You’re a respected businessman, behave.”

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“Yeah, well, you were a respected attorney. Apparently all bets are off.” My mouth rounded. He was right, the partners would not approve of my actions. I hadn’t really liked my office that much anyway. Brock read my expression. He gently butted foreheads with me. “Hey. You can still do my taxes.” I laughed. “Great.” His hands slipped up my thighs to my hips and drew me closer. He worked his way onto the bed, then crossed his legs so we were both Indian style. I sat in the gap between his knees. “So Gregg knew where the envelope was?” “Yes, in a manner of speaking.” It surprised me to find myself using the phrase I so hated hearing from Mac. How oddly and easily it worked into conversation. “When he held me to the wall wanting me to never mention Father Nolan again? Yeah, he was really, really pissed. I don’t even know what triggered it other than the name.” “What did he say?” “He told me to pack my things and leave.” To paraphrase him. “To never look back, but I told him I couldn’t because Danni’s my sister. When I said that, he dropped me like a fresh skillet. Total meltdown at that comment. I don’t get it. It’s not like it’s not common knowledge. He works here. If he’s in on all this, then surely he knew who I was. He was the punk who brought up the luggage last night. I doubt they deliver one person’s luggage to another unless they are kin of some sort.” “Or it’s a legal issue; however, that could be one and the same.” “Yeah. I’m glad he didn’t think to kick me or anything. Steel-toed Timberlands would leave a nasty mark. Worse than his forearm for certain.” “Break yer ribs! Bastard!” Not that it mattered but I agreed. It hadn’t happened so it was a moot point. “I don’t know if he’s Outfit or Nolan’s. I got conflicting signals.” “How so?” “At the mention of Bevan, the sweat rolled off him in buckets. The kid needed a bath in a bad way.” I leaned close to Brock, letting his spicy scent push the stench of Gregg from my mind. “He started talking but he didn’t make any sense. He repeated a very off refrain.” “Off?” “Yeah. It seemed like he went into this weird little trance. Maybe it was like ...” Frustrated, I tugged my hair back. I ran my hands through the long layers, then shook it out. This was so important, but I didn’t know how to describe just how creepy it was. The words themselves weren’t that upsetting. They weren’t even weird. It had been all him. Gregg was what made it creepy. “Just slow down, luv. Take a deep breath and just however it comes out’ll be fine.”

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I did as instructed. “Maybe the best description would be how someone repeats a mantra or a prayer. That’s how he spoke. That kind of rhythm and synchronicity. He said he was a dead man. Over and over he said that, and to not be a dead man, too. Then something about a sliding door under something new. He apologized over and over, saying he didn’t know that I was Bevan’s woman.” Brock tilted his head to the side. “Apologized?” “I told you. Odd. Not just that, but he said had he known, he never would have touched me. One was bad, but two was too much. That’s a direct quote. I told him Bevan meant nothing to me but Danni mean everything. I begged him. I grabbed his pants. They were damp with diesel fuel and heavy with the stench of fish.” His expression clearly said he didn’t like the idea of my begging. Well, I didn’t either. “Maybe he moonlights down by the docks.” I nodded. “Or maybe that’s where they are keeping her.” “The docks are well maintained and searched. I don’t think they’d do that, but there are a lot of areas that have water, where diesel would be near, I suppose. We are on an island after all. You kept using the name Bevan, why won’t you call him Father Nolan?” The familiar strings of hostility rose from the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know the man. I’d never even seen a picture of him. Danni didn’t have any pictures of her life in Ireland. Yet I hated him as if I’d known him. I’d heard stories and innuendo. Danni didn’t talk about it much, but I’d never heard her say one positive thing about him. He made her unhappy, and I detested him for that simple fact. The fact that he chose to exploit a holy title made me despise him. “He’s not my father.” A soft swat hit my bum. “It’s a title. Nothing more.” Bile rose in my throat. “I guess you could say I’m not a member of the flock.” Brock nodded. He hesitantly explained, “Ye know he’s not truly a preacher.” “Yes. That I did know, and I find his use of the name deplorable. What? He just woke up one morning and decided to mock everything people respect? The church, his family?” “No. He got the name for helping out the homeless.” Ah, yes. Danni had told me that, but it wasn’t really beneficial aid he offered. What he offered was a sustained fix and a little side money. “He helped them alright. Right into his gang.” Danni had told me things. She never went into great detail, but her father had been a bad man, a cruel man. “Not really a gang.” His shoulder rose and fell. “Okay, it is kind of like a gang. He had the market cornered until this Outfit of yours reared its ugly head.” I took offense at his calling it mine. I always thought of The Outfit as Mac’s. Bet that pissed her off, too. Note to self.

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“They came in and forced him to work for them. He already had a built-in rep for ... persuasion, let’s say. He had a built-in clientele. He got to keep his place in the neighborhood. He still seemed like the big man. The Outfit had to do nothing other than furnish a little overhead and take a cut.” “You learned about all this this morning?” “Aye.” “How?” “I asked, and it panned out. Father Nolan’s always had a reputation in these parts. Danni and I fought it growing up. She took it particularly hard. That was her old man luring other kids into a way of life that could lead only to death. Whether at the hands of another member, an upstart, or maybe it would be because of the booze, the drugs, or even the whoring lifestyle. Nolan had respect from many because just like the railroad builders in your country, he’d give them jobs. Times were tough. They’d earn a wage. That almost made him a deity.” “But at a price.” He nodded. “A big price. Here’s a story you probably don’t know.” Brock grew quiet. He lifted me off his lap, pulled himself to the end of the bed. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Then, shaking his head, he clasped his hands between his spread knees. I waited for him to continue. I stared at his back in wonder, watching the jerky rise and fall of his shoulders. I gave him the space he sought. His voice grew thick with emotion. “One night, he used Danni as a runner. She didn’t know she was packing the goods. He’d stuffed them in her bag.” No. I hadn’t ever heard that. “She thought she was running away when what she was doing was running for him.” I thought of Danni as a young girl trying to escape her father. The betrayal she must have felt. Not just at that incident, but every day seeing the addicted on the street and knowing her father helped put them there. The boys and girls from school who OD’d or simply disappeared. “Beithíoch,” he said. He caught himself. “You know, for years she forgave him when he’d hit her, when her ‘uncles’ came over, for everything. Though that’s about the time when she started hanging out at Saunders so much. She could stay late at the pub. Fiona let her hang out there. Do her homework and the like. Sometimes Danni washed dishes to have some money of her own. For a while Danni acted like if she didn’t see it, it wasn’t there, but more and more kids were falling victim to her father, and she couldn’t ignore that forever. It’s one thing te make excuses fer yerself, but harder when the evidence is out there on others.” I understood that. I wanted to ask him where he was when all this happened, but knew there was no way to say it where it didn’t sound accusatory.

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He glanced over his shoulder, looking at me. He had a sickly pallor to him. “Go ahead, Charlie. Say it. I know what you’re thinkin’. Say it. Ask me.” Refusing, I bit my lip. Obviously tortured by his not being able to aid Danni and blaming himself was enough. I’d not add to that. “Fine. I’ll say it. Where was I? I wasn’t there. It’s that simple. I had my own life, my own world. I wasn’t lookin’ for additional problems. When you’re a kid, who do you even look to fer that? They don’t tell you to check yer friends for abuse. Even if you saw it or thought you saw it, and then realized that it wasn’t normal, who would you go to to report it? I didn’t know. It was not something on the top of my mind.” “You’re not responsible.” “We’re all responsible. For every action we take, for every sign we ignore, for every single time we turn a blind eye, and I did. Several times. It was the way of things. I loved her so much. Much like you, she was my only family, well, other than the sisters, but I guess they don’t count. She was my friend, and I wasn’t there to protect her.” He sniffed. “For a long time, I didn’t know anything about what was really goin’ on. All the kids, even the sisters at the orphanage loved Father Nolan. I thought it was the ultimate that I was her friend and I never missed a chance to tell her what a champ her father was. She never once let on. Danni can keep a secret like no one I’ve ever met.” The affection in his voice broke my heart. I wanted to reach out to him, but at the same time I was scared if I did he wouldn’t tell me this story and I wanted to hear it, badly. I had to concentrate to understand him. The emotion thickened his accent. His brogue was so pronounced it was hard to make out the words. “Her bruises always had ... explanations.” He got up and began pacing back and forth in front of the bed, his hands clenched at his side. “Always, there was always an explanation, until that night.” For all my father’s faults, he’d never once laid a hand on me. “What happened?” “It was the wee hours of the mornin’. It was a Tuesday. Why do I remember? Because we’d gone to the museum that day. Danni had loved it.” He coughed away the memory. “She’d stayed out late at the pub. Fiona had finally sent her on her way. Danni thought she was getting mugged. I thought she was being molested. The mentaller was just tryin’ to swipe the backpack. He knew the delivery was there. Father Nolan had told him. He told him how te find Danni, where she’d be.” I started collecting the parts of the dismantled phone and scooping them into the trash bin. “How’d you find her?” “She’d given me a bell. Said she needed to talk. She didn’t want to go home. She had te leave the pub, and didn’t know where te go. I told her I’d meet her at Donegall Square.” He went to his bag and pulled out the binoculars. “The guy didn’t want anything but her pack. He jerked it free of her shoulders and ran.”

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“You saw it all?” How painful. He nodded. “We sat on the park bench, both of us tremblin’ from the chill. She broke down. Told me everything, she did. We went back to Fiona, woke her in the middle of the night, got Danni a loan, and shipped her to the States.” Wow. “Over the years, I paid Fiona back, Danni made a life for herself. That made me so proud. She’d send me copies of her articles. Seein’ her name in that byline said something. It said she made it. She’d beaten it. Him. I never joined in with the kids. I wanted a different life and Father Nolan, I thought, respected that.” “Now you don’t?” He walked close to the window, stood at an angle. He popped the lens cap off and lifted the glasses. He fiddled with the knobs for a minute before he answered. “Nah. I think he did it because he was scared of what Danni might have told me. He left me alone. I left him alone.” Self-loathing rolled off Brock in waves and it made me uncomfortable. What was he supposed to have done? How did one man, boy even, brook those odds? “What about Fiona?” “She’s fine. Father Nolan knew she and Danni spent time together, but I don’t think he ever knew just how much Fiona knew about him. If he did know, he didn’t care. What could a waitress do te him?” “Do you see anything?” “Aye.” “Really?” I went to his side. “There is a man over there.” He used the field glasses to show his reference point. “He’s watching us, like we’re watching him.” “Or,” I offered, “it could just be a couple in a room near ours making love with their curtains open.” The corner of his lip quirked. “So then, yer learning how te handle this lifestyle? Yer okay with it then?” “Heavens, I hope not.” I laughed. A rap came at the door. It wasn’t really a knock. It was a knock knock knockity knock. “Bobby’s here. Keep watching him watch us. Maybe smile and wave.” “Not a chance in Hell.” I rushed to the door and though excited, I checked the peephole first. Sure enough, Bobby stood in the hall, his face distorted by the small hole. It looked like he was whistling. He leaned in near as if trying to see me. “Natasha, are you going to open the door or not? Mac will be pissed if I don’t call her at o-five-hundred on the dot and tell her you let me in.”

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Chapter Fourteen Bobby and Brock hit it off like Cartier and the Oscars. In no time at all they were laughing and joking as though they’d been friends all Bobby’s life. If I lived to be a hundred, I’d never cease to be amazed by Mac’s and Bobby’s people skills. Very different, but so enigmatic, so compelling, they each drew people to them like moths to the proverbial flame. Fascinating and frustrating at the same time. Brock and Bobby gossiped about Danni as though they were her brothers. I didn’t know if I should be comforted and pleased or if maybe I should feel a little jealousy that there was this part of her life I’d missed out on. I listened in silence to their anecdotes. I hadn’t realized how wrapped up in my own small world I’d become. Too much so, it seemed. Danni and I hadn’t sat down recently and talked about what was going on, what new stories she was working on, where her next assignment was going to take her, that kind of stuff. For months she listened to me drone on and on about my cases. All the while, she never said one word to me about her plans, but then again, I never asked. We talked nearly every day, either via a text message, phone message, or e-mail, but after the holidays and when I was getting ready for court ... Well, it had trailed off, but I was so consumed with my own life, I hadn’t really noticed. That made me depressed. There was nothing like staring yourself in the face and seeing a wretched, consumed person you know you wouldn’t want as a friend glaring back at you. It seemed the more I fought it, the more I became like my father. I had no desire to be that same workaholic that my father was. A person who disappeared into the study, angry all the time, slamming doors, forgetting birthdays. When asked if he could spare a moment, he’d growl about didn’t we know how busy he was? How hard he worked? What did we expect of him? He’d given us everything.

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When Mother got sick, he didn’t even realize she was ill for almost three months. Not even when we began going to the doctor’s every day. It didn’t faze him. Our trips for chemo, he thought were holidays. That’s how much he gave us. Had I become equally blinded to the world around me? Bobby’s rich laughter brought me back to the present. I blinked several times as I watched him lounge. He scratched his chin and finished some story about Danni and the rigging. Laid back to the extreme, he’d confiscated the overstuffed chair, draping one long khaki-clad leg over the arm. He used the binoculars to check out our voyeur and seemed a little put out to discover that when he waved to the spotter, the man would not return the welcome. He hadn’t mentioned anything about his delay in London or what the hang-ups he experienced were. He listened intently as Brock summed up where we were at on our end. “Chitchat’s been great, but it’s time to get down to business. You say you held out ’til I got here to open it?” Bobby inquired. I’d pulled up the desk chair, positioning it near Bobby’s but turned so that my back faced out the window. All the man watching us could see of me was my back. I slipped my finger under the edge of the envelope and proceeded to open it. “Yes. Just for you, Bobby.” “Huh,” he said and looked back out the window. His gaze scanned from top to bottom and corner to corner. “We should shut the blinds and turn on some lights.” “Wait,” I said. “Huh?” I offered a sly smile. I had an idea. Maybe I wasn’t as good at this lifestyle as he was, but I thought I was getting the hang of their thinking. It was all about perception and deception. “Let him sweat what we’re doing for just a moment. Let him see us discussing something, planning something.” Bobby rubbed his hands together, then clapped me on the back with enthusiasm. “There. Now it looks like we did something and that it’s a good plan. Happy? Maybe you can wait all day, I can’t. They’ll be calling soon. If we’re going to investigate the goods we’ll need to actually see whatever the details are. And Mac wants an update.” “What’s that all about?” Brock asked as he waited for Bobby to drop the curtains. Bobby loosed the tie and with the momentum of the falling heavy material, he grabbed the edge and pulled the curtain so both sides closed completely. “What’s what?” “What was that huh you said about? Is there something I should know that I don’t?” Brock glanced from Bobby to me and back to Bobby hoping for a response. Bobby smiled revealing one of his killer dimples. “Oh, that? Her.” “Me!” “Yeah, you.” He turned to Brock and rolled his eyes. “She’s so full of crap. She didn’t wait because of any input I can offer, and she sure as hell didn’t do it to make me happy, or she thought I should be a part of it, and if she sold you that line and you bought it you’re not

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as smart as I thought you were. She waited for one reason and one reason alone, to see my reaction. And yes, there are lots of things you probably should know but don’t but we don’t have the luxury of remedying that right now.” Brock’s eyes jerked my direction. His expression said he was ready to jump to my defense and explain to Bobby how we’d had other things happening and about how Gregg had assaulted me. For a man in M&A, he really needed to work on his poker face. I motioned slightly with my hand as if wiping a slate clean. Bobby didn’t need to know everything that had happened. It would only work him up and then he’d feel responsible. The poor kid had enough on his plate. He didn’t need to add my feeble choices to the list of sins weighing too dangerously on his broad shoulders. He was involved, irrevocably so. I knew that as fact, but he didn’t need any more tasks than he already had. Brock waited. “Right? I’m right. I know I’m right,” Bobby demanded. I smiled, but didn’t confirm or deny. “Good,” said Bobby. “Well done. You are learning. My little girl’s all grown up.” He feigned wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I’m so proud.” While Brock chuckled, I noted the caution and concern remaining in his gaze. He liked Bobby, but he still wasn’t sure if he trusted him. I didn’t know a person who’d met Bobby that didn’t, but to his credit, despite his new friendship Brock was ready to come to my defense should I need it. Knowing that sent a warm fuzzy feeling coiling through my belly. Instead of responding to Bobby’s display, I slit the envelope, pushed the opening wide, and dumped the contents onto the coffee table. Two Polaroids fell free along with a thin, silver chain that slithered out with a hissing sound. I dropped the envelope. There were papers still inside, but the necklace beckoned me. At the end of the chain dangled a gorgeous diamond pendant. “Well, that’s not cheap.” “Not what one would normally expect to find in an envelope,” Brock quipped. “Did Mac say anything about a diamond to either of you?” “Damn!” Bobby’s jaw gaped. “That’s not just a diamond, that’s got to be at least a twocarat Asscher.” I looked up sharply. He was just full of surprises. “What do you know about diamonds?” The Asscher cut was designed in 1902 by a pair of brothers in Holland. The cut was gaining in popularity because of starlets and television, but quality diamonds were required. Hence, substantial monetary investments that not everyone could afford. “I have hobbies,” was all he said. “Would you look at that color!” Often known as the square emerald cut, the stepped square cut blazed brilliant even in the poor hotel lighting. The multifaceted stone grabbed the light dancing like a campfire. Instantly I became mesmerized. “Did Mac know about this?” Bobby shook his head no. The shadow danced over the diamond. “Not that I was told.”

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“Would you have been told?” Brock asked. For a moment I was worried that Bobby would take offense. Needlessly, it appeared. I should have known better. He only became offended when someone doubted Mac, not him. “Believe it or not, buddy, but yeah. I am remotely in the know and no, Mac didn’t mention it.” He looked at me. “Did Henderson?” “No.” I raised a shoulder, but didn’t take my gaze from the beautiful jewel. It seemed perfect. I twirled the chain. “He talked about two photos and paperwork. He didn’t go into any further detail.” Bobby picked up the two pictures. He whistled long and low. “Well, we know where the rock came from.” “Where?” Brock asked. “South Africa. That’s Ajani Issay, there in the green suit. He’s a curator for a diamond mine. The man is fly.” “He’s a curator, you say?” Bobby nodded. That didn’t make sense. “Then why is he meeting with --” I took the picture from him. “-- Treadway? I don’t remember anything being in The Outfit’s financials that remotely mentioned South Africa. Certainly not a business venture. Or jewels. I’d have noted jewels.” “Don’t know. Didn’t know Treadway was into bling.” He turned to Brock and shuddered. “If you’ve ever seen Millicent and her taste in faux jewelry you wouldn’t believe it either. I swear that woman shops swaps. He must keep the good stuff for himself, or maybe for his lady lover.” “Do you know that because you tried to pawn her jewelry?” I asked not surprised Darnell Treadway had a lover. The men of The Outfit repulsed me. He flashed me an innocent grin. “Me! Would I do that? You hurt me with your accusations, Charlie.” “Who’s Millicent?” “Treadway’s rotund wife,” I supplied. “What else is in there? What’s the second picture of?” “She looks like a gnome. You should meet her sometime. Charming. She and her friends squawk like a gaggle of geese, so take your Tylenol first,” Bobby said as he examined the picture. He lifted it, twisted it, changed the angle. “I don’t know.” One side of his mouth pulled down and his dimple creased. He held it out to me. “What the hell is that?” Brock stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. “Looks like skin art to me. The color’s off a wee bit. But there are no brush strokes. Nothing that would say it’s on canvas. And those look like ... freckles?” “A back. It’s a man’s back.” And a very nicely sculpted one at that.

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“How do you know?” they asked in unison. “This muscle here.” I pointed. “It’s the trap. I like them. Things I like, I know.” They looked at each other, sharing disgust. Bobby shook his head and let out a huff. “Just like a woman. It’s all about the physical. A man with a personality stands no chance. It’s all about the size.” “Not all, but it helps.” I waggled my brows. Like Bobby had anything to be concerned with. He was funny, cute, wealthy by alternative means. He was athletic, tall. I sighed. There had to be something morally wrong with my finding him attractive. Brock attempted to sneak a nonchalant glance at the sway of his own shoulders, and I had to look away so he didn’t see me smile. He had nothing to worry about either. Not from my thinking Bobby appealing, because Bobby was a still a kid to me and Brock was all man. A man I’d come to care a great deal about. The phone rang. The shrill tones startled us all. “What do we do?” I asked, swallowing a surge of panic. Bobby laughed. “Answer the phone, sweet cheeks. When they ask if you have it, say yes. When they asked if you’ve looked in it, say yes.” “What?” “Trust me. They’ll know you’re a liar if you don’t admit it.” I hustled over to the phone, tucking my hair behind my ear before I answered. “This is Charlize.” “Three people in a room and it takes you so long to answer? Now why is that, I wonder, Charlize?” Henderson’s voice annoyed me. Bobby threw a pillow at me. It hit the phone and I fumbled, keeping it in my grasp. Barely. He cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered, “Ask for proof of life.” His words chilled my blood. I’d taken it for granted since I heard the recording that Danni was very much alive and well. But that recording could have been made at any time in the past two weeks. Every scrap of confidence I had slipped from my body. I worked moisture back into my mouth. They were right. I wasn’t a leader. I was a follower. “We were looking through the envelope.” “Really? How interesting.” “Not really.” I forced my voice to sound disinterested. “I don’t know what all this stuff is or why it’s important. One picture’s of a double helix. The other’s of Treadway and some guy on a yacht. So what?” “So, my dear, dear child. These were our possessions and we require their return. As you and your current man-friend have discovered, we retain offices across from your hotel. You will meet me there in ten minutes with the articles in question.”

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No. No. I shook my head. I was sick of following. Following my mother’s quest for selfsufficiency, my father’s battle for achievement, Mac’s orders, The Outfit. This was it. That defining moment in time. I could crumble to their will or assert mine. I blinked. It would feel good to stand on my own with no safety net. No one to blame for failure except myself. This was it. “No.” “I beg your pardon?” There was shock in Henderson’s voice. Bobby and Brock perked up like puppies hearing the dinner call. I shook my head. “We will not meet in your building. We will meet outdoors, in a public setting, while it is still daylight. You will have Danni with you.” Silence greeted my demand. The seconds ticked by loudly from the clock on the nightstand. Finally, he said, “If you fail us or toy with us, Charlize, you will regret it.” “I regret everything that involves you, your friends, your band of boys, all of it. So you don’t need to worry about that. I’m there.” I looked down at my feet. I didn’t want to see the betrayal I thought I’d see in both men’s faces. Had it not been for The Outfit, I’d not have met either of them. For those blessings, I was thankful. I had to trust they were strong enough to take it and that they would not personalize my words. “One more thing, before I agree, you will let me speak to her or I torch your precious documents now.” “Charlize, you wouldn’t.” Henderson didn’t sound at all convinced that I wouldn’t. This was good, because at that moment, I was willing to ruin it all. If we were all going down, we’d go down magnificently. “Try me.” Over the phone, I heard something that sounded like a snap of fingers; then there was a creak, some scuffling. “Danelle, Charlize is on the line. Say something,” Henderson ordered. “Charlie?” Danni’s voice rasped. “Yes, it’s me.” Emotion clogged my throat and deepened my voice. “Say something current so I know this is you and not a recording.” “Sweet Mary, Bobby’s been talking to you again, hasn’t he? Tell him hi for me. And tell him thanks. Never mind. I’ll tell him myself.” She sounded almost pleasant. Still tired, but her l’s no longer rolled like they had on the tape. She sounded more coherent. “You found it?” My gaze rose to Bobby and he beamed as if he knew she’d spoken of him. He waved. “I did.” “And you’re going to give it to them?” she asked. “I’m going to return what they asked for.” Henderson came back on. “I’m glad to finally hear reason from your pretty little lips. Are you satisfied Danelle is alive and generally well kept?” “Dunluce Castle. Five forty-five.”

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“You think you have time to get there?” he scoffed. “We have time.” Brock checked the table clock then nodded confirmation. “We can make it.” “Make it six fifteen,” Henderson counter-offered. “Six, straight up.” Actually, the additional time was fine by me but I refused to give too much. “Fine, but Charlize,” his tone grew stern, “you better have our possessions. I want all three of you there. I know Bobby Connor is with you. The little bastard threw his loyalties in with Mackenzie’s sinking ship. I want to look him in the face again. It’s been far too long since we’ve chatted.” “You hurt him, I’ll kill you myself.” My voice sounded so calm, so maintained, but I meant every word. I knew it in the pit of my stomach with the same clarity as I’d known in the diner that I could hurt Mac for exposing Danni to harm, for involving her in this mess and for waiting two weeks to let me know something was wrong. Maybe Mac and I weren’t so different. “My, my, how your tune has changed. You’ve been keeping the wrong company.” Anxious to get going, I asked, “Do we have a meet or not? I have a lighter right here if you’ve changed your mind.” “You won’t like what happens if you lie to me.” “Save your threats, Henderson. We’ll be there. All three of us. I’ll bring the envelope.” “Very well then.” “I have a question I have to ask you. A couple spreadsheets and two Polaroids?” I shook my head though I knew he couldn’t see me. I could not fathom the extent of what they’d gone to for so little. The diamond, yes. The rest, no. “Those things are worth kidnapping?” “Yes. They are,” he said simply. “They are worth death.” “Then you are one fucked up individual.” My words were said slowly, carefully, clearly enunciated. “Six p.m.” As soon as I finished speaking, I hung up, not affording Henderson an opportunity to respond. My hand quaked as I gently replaced the receiver. No public display of emotion. Too many mistakes had been made. Now was time to play it cool. If there was ever a time for calculated moves, this was it. Bobby clapped his thigh, his eyes wide with incredulity. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then through his hair, mussing it. Brock’s brows shot heavenward. “Holy hell! I can’t believe you said that.” Bobby slapped Brock. “I can’t believe she said that. Mac’ll never believe this! What’s wrong with her? Why did she change the plan?” “It would seem, my young friend, she’s pissed.”

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Bewildered Bobby scratched his head. He seemed to look at me differently. He talked about me, rather than to me. “Why now?” Brock went to the closet and withdrew both of our jackets. A smile curved his lips as he offered me mine. He caught my gaze, held it, and then offered me a nod as if in approval. “Francis Quarles said it best when he said, beware of him that is slow to anger; for when it is long in coming, it is the stronger when it comes, and the longer kept. Abused patience turns to fury.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Simply put? They pushed her too far.”

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Chapter Fifteen “Do ye really think it wise to keep the necklace?” Brock asked as we waited in the courtyard of the ruins of Dunluce. “Bobby might be right about this. It’s dangerous. It’s worth a lot of sterling. Someone is bound to miss it.” “Yeah,” Bobby said. “Listen to him.” “They didn’t ask for it. As far as we know, they don’t even know Danni had it. They’re getting exactly what they requested. That’s it. Bobby, wasn’t it you who told me never offer more than what’s required?” “Information! Damn! I was talking about information, Charlie, not a fifty thousand dollar necklace. That’s a little different.” “You don’t know how much it’s worth.” I dismissed the figure. Besides, it didn’t matter what it cost. The necklace was not the issue. Danni had put it in the envelope for a reason. She’d wanted it safe, and I was going to keep it that way. “No. Not exactly, but I’ve got an eye for pretty things.” He checked his cell phone, then snapped it shut. He still had no service apparently. This inability to contact Mac and run the plan by her seemed to be driving him up a wall. “As you so delicately pointed out, I have a history. I’ve survived by knowing this kind of stuff. You’re out of your league.” “I probably am.” I leaned back against a thigh high piling of rocks. My hand went to my neck. Lightly, I trailed my fingers over the sore collarbone, then they drifted to the dangling diamond. The eighteen-inch chain rested against my flesh, but I wore it out, so I could see the facets gleam in the light. “Besides, if they do ask, we have it.” Bobby made a face before turning to look out a gaping hole in the northeast wall out toward the sea. He braced his hands on the wall. “This is a bad idea.”

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I ignored him and looked around me at the glorious remains of what had at one time been a fantastic fortress. The castle itself sat atop a magnificent sheer crag that jutted some one-hundred feet into the air. “We’re trapped out here, ya know?” Bobby pushed. We’d had to cross a narrow bridge to reach the ruins. Tourists bustled about. They took pictures, laughed and joked as if nothing so substantial as a life exchange was preparing to take place. Accents from around the world echoed off the open remains. Now roofless, the structure still seemed intimidating. Only gunpowder had conquered it. “We’re not trapped. There are lots of people here.” “But only one way to get away and it’s back over that little bridge there.” He pointed. “We crossed it, too. It’s gonna be fine, Bobby,” Brock said, glancing up from the brochure in his hands. “Did you know that the MacDonnell who captured this castle from the English was able to do so because -- now this is cool -- one of his men was employed in the castle? That man hauled his comrades up the cliff in a basket.” Bobby began pacing. “I like ya, Brock, but don’t push it. We don’t have any baskets nor comrades down on the beach. All we know is what’s in that brochure and that really isn’t helping. If I’ve learned anything from Mac, I’ve learned that this sort of thing needs planning. It needs surveillance. Not some half-assed bit of posturing against the bad guys. The really bad guys.” He jammed his hands deep in his pockets and continued his worried pattern of north to south. North to west. Then east to south. The pattern he wove made me anxious. “Stop it. Just calm down, follow my lead, and everything will be fine.” He threw his hands in the air. “You don’t get it!” “Yes, I do. Calm down. Lower your voice. You’re drawing attention.” The reversed roles knocked me a bit off kilter. I could tell it did Bobby, too, because he did stop. “Good. Maybe people will notice us. If people notice us and talk to us, then Henderson and his cronies can’t kill us.” Yet Bobby did lower his voice. “Sure they can. They haven’t expressed any conscience or remorse about doing anything else in a public manner. People or no, if they intend to kill us, they will.” “Brock, love, you’re not helping.” I kissed him on the cheek. “Charlie, would you at least put the damn necklace under your sweater?” I complied. “Happy?” “Happier. Yes. Look,” Bobby said. “I understand your frustration and I understand your anger.” “Anger’s a passion I can’t afford,” I said. “This isn’t about anger.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t like this; just make sure you cover your ass. Okay?” “Make sure you cover yours,” Brock said.

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Bobby smiled. “Not a problem. I like it in one piece.” He started to say something else but stopped. “They’re here. At least some of them.” My gaze followed his. The two men from the pub, Aidan, and the blonde man from the airplane and bar. The one with the sleeved-out arms. I wondered if the picture of the back belonged to him, but quickly dismissed the idea. The skin tone was off, and I seriously doubted that he had only one small tattoo on his back. The men fanned out, each taking different paths toward us. With each step they drew nearer and my heart pounded. It seemed to happen in slow motion with the volume turned to high. Each footfall of their boots, I heard. Each rise of their chests, I felt their breath. I search for Henderson and sign of Danni but didn’t see anything. The blonde man stopped in front of me. As soon as he spoke, I knew his voice. He was the man who’d been with Gregg trying to break into the hotel room. “So you’re the bit of slit causin’ all the fuss.” “You give me too much credit. I’m just another pawn in their game. I’m not the manipulator.” He cocked a pierced brow. “Give me the documents.” “Give me Danni.” “Ye give me the feckin’ documents, I’ll tell ye where te go to get her.” I shook my head. “That wasn’t the deal and you know it.” I raised my voice. “Henderson knows it.” “I don’t give a bloody damn about yer deal. You’ll do what I tell ye. Or die.” “Wait. Wait. Wait.” Brock’s arms came from behind me. One on each side. They waved in front of me as if a bizarre pantomime. “That’s not necessary. This is a public place. People are here that could get hurt.” The blonde man didn’t even bother with looking at Brock. “Then tell yer woman to give me the documents. We can all part happy like. There will be no need for anythin’ unpleasant.” Bobby murmured something close to, “I told you this was a bad idea.” Then he popped his lips and sashayed over to us. “Sorry, buddy, she can’t do that. Just like you’re under orders from your boss, so are we. It’s a bitch, I know. But this is no more than a business transaction. A for B.” A business transaction. I blinked repeatedly. My logical mind knew what he was doing and it warned my emotional self to stay quiet. “You run along and get Danni, then we’ll give you your stuff. Not a moment before.” Aidan stood about two feet behind the blonde man, his arms crossed over his chest, looking imposing. His hair was up in his punky do and in the light of day I saw the scars on his cheek, forehead and jaw. There seemed to be a light bruising that had not been there

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before. His blue eyes looked sad yet still determined. He caught my gaze and held it. He slightly shook his head. I almost missed it. Blondie turned to Bobby and caught him by the throat. “You’re a smart lad. You don’t want te end up like Gregg do ye?” “Gregg?” Bobby croaked. “What happened to Gregg?” I asked, suddenly wishing I hadn’t. “The boyo had a wee accident. I heard he drowned in the Lagan.” I choked on bile. I hadn’t liked Gregg, but I hadn’t wished him death. “Do put him down, Shanley. You’re drawing stares. His flare for theatrics can truly be beneficial, but sometimes unnecessary. I’m sorry for the rudeness, Charlize. My apologies, Bobby.” Henderson stroked his mustache, sounding not at all sincere or contrite. At his side walked Danni. They approached our small group. She was the most beautiful vision I’d ever seen. Her red ringlets sparkled under the fading sunlight, lifting in the ocean breeze. There were dark crescents under her eyes. She looked tired, but alive and well. She blinked slowly. Her steps moved haltingly, almost in a shuffled manner. “What did you do to her?” I rushed to Danni’s side, but Aidan stopped me before I could reach her. “Don’t,” he whispered. Henderson smiled and patted Danni’s head as he led her to the piling I’d leaned on earlier. He patted the rocks and she sat. “That’s a good girl. We just gave her a little something to soothe her anxiety. She was a little worked up this morning. Don’t fret. She’ll be fine. It’s a special blend we’ve been working on. It really does wonders for the nervous system.” I think Bobby was angrier than I was. He shoved past the blonde man, then through Henderson to kneel at Danni’s feet. He held her face between his hands. He turned her head from side to side, held open her eyelids and examined her pupils. “You’re such a bastard.” Henderson laughed. He toyed with the sapphire ring on his finger. He twirled it. “From a traitor, such language.” “I’m not a traitor.” Bobby bit the words out in a crisp staccato. “I’ve always been loyal to Mac. It’s not my problem you all were too arrogant to see it.” Henderson straightened his tie as he looked down his nose at Bobby. “Oh, but we see you now. And you, better than most, know how we deal with traitors.” “I warned you to leave him alone, Henderson.” “As you wish. I grow weary of this exchange anyway. I prefer action. Charlize, do you have the paperwork?”

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I held it aloft. “I give you this, we all leave?” I marveled at how the tourists walked by as though our party wasn’t there, as though there was nothing odd with men in suits and a weary woman doing business with the likes of Brock, Bobby and myself. It did seem they were all walking away, as if giving us space. Aidan, still positioned near me, whispered. “Give it to him and run. Get away.” Henderson smiled. “Of course.” My gaze narrowed on him. “You have my word.” He held out his hand. “Bobby, take Danni.” He moved to do my bidding when the blonde man placed a hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping him. “Yer not going anywhere until we get what we came for.” My gaze darted to the two other men. They wore the same green and blue ties. Their suits looked to be the same as the previous night. I wondered if they had changed or if that was their uniform. Their faces were expressionless. Their eyes stared straight ahead. They both were positioned off to the right. My attention then went to Aidan and finally to Henderson. Only Henderson stood on my left. The men with ties carried weapons. The man with tattoos, I believed, didn’t need weapons. Henderson? Who knew? He seemed the sort to have a small gun tucked away, but I didn’t know for certain. I bit my lip. I didn’t know how a single person in the group would react. There was no probable outcome save disaster. I stepped forward. It brought me shoulder to shoulder with Aidan. He faced south. I faced north. I stood facing Henderson. The envelope drooped in my left hand. It was on the side away from Aidan. I tapped it against my watery leg. The sun was setting, beginning the final crest. Splashes of orange and pink replaced the golden sunshine. Visitors had begun their retreat. Where we stood, it was only us. Henderson glanced down at his watch, his other hand still outstretched. I thought he might snap his fingers at me. I took advantage of the situation to tell Aidan, “You said your involvement was not by choice, but because you were forced. I’m willing to believe in you.” He didn’t even blink at my softly spoken words. “If you meant it, then I’m begging you to help Bobby and Danni get out of here. Grab them and don’t look back. Just keep going. Get them safe.” I didn’t wait for a response. I backed away, toward the hole in the wall. “You want it?” Henderson took two jerky steps toward me, horror in his eyes. The other men, all of them, left their posts and moved in toward me. Brock, Danni, and Bobby were left unattended as the men converged. I stuck the envelope into the opening and every man halted, all of their hands out, even Henderson’s, as if to stop me.

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“You don’t want to do that, Charlize.” “I might,” I hedged. Bobby had Danni’s arm wrapped around his neck and he was trying to get her to walk. He seemed to be having a difficult go of it. Aidan looked from Danni to Henderson’s back. He shook his head and ran to Bobby. He jerked Danni from the young man’s grasp, scooped her into his arms, and ran toward the bridge and the exit. As soon as I saw him do that, I tossed the envelope and ran myself, but in the other direction. “Get me that envelope,” Henderson barked. “What about her?” the blonde man hollered. “She’s mine.”

Oh! Mon Dieu. Je suis mort! I heard true rage in his voice. I ducked around one of the corners, my heart pounding. I couldn’t go to the exit. That would take the men in the one direction I didn’t want them to go. I hadn’t heard Henderson issue the order to go after Aidan and Bobby, but maybe he thought Aidan went after Bobby. I hoped so. I ran down a long corridor and out into the open. A trail marked “To the Mermaid’s Cave” came into view. It was closed due to rock fall, but I didn’t care. Let them arrest me. I bolted down the sharp incline.

Je suis fou. I’d gone and lost my mind. As I scrambled down the cliff, slipping and sliding on the slime covered rock, I could barely breathe. I heard someone, or someones coming. Past the thundering beat of my heart and the rasp of my own breath, I had a hard time discerning anything. I didn’t like heights, but I liked the concept of being caught and killed even less. Where was Brock? Had he gotten away? Had Bobby? I swore that if I lived through this, I’d protect Bobby and Aidan until the day I died, for their helping Danni. At least she’d be all right and that had been my goal. I lost my footing. I tried to break my fall with my arms but they hit the same slime and they slipped free too, but not before mind-numbing pain shot up my arm. My rump hit the ground hard. I tried to get up, but my legs weren’t working. Blurry eyed, I wiped my eyes and my hand came away stained red with blood. When had I hit my head? I felt dizzy, sick to my stomach, and my right arm had shooting pain so intense I was sure I’d broken it. When I tried to look down and focus on my arm, my vision blurred. “Charlize!” I saw the dark sleeve of his suit.

Get up, Charlie. No matter how I tried, I could not stand. My legs refused to work. I used my left arm; it hurt, too, but not as badly, to try to push me out of the path. It didn’t work either. It was too

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slippery. I couldn’t get a good grip and I couldn’t get out of the way. All I could do was listen to Henderson crying my name. He sounded like a madman. Henderson barreled around the corner, murder in his eyes a small gun in his hand. He didn’t have time to stop. He rounded the bend, he tried to slow down, to step around me, but the pathway was narrow, steep, and slick. He couldn’t stop. He tripped over my supine body and plummeted down the pass. His scream died with a sickening snap.

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Chapter Sixteen A Colles’ fracture of my right wrist and a left ulna bruise. I’m not certain I understood exactly what the doctor had said or what those names meant other than pain and inconvenience. Guess it meant that the push-ups would have to wait. They’d treated me for shock and casted my wrist at the hospital. The police had been called to the castle. They’d spoken with me there briefly. One of the officers accompanied Brock and me to the hospital. At the beginning, I worried it was because I was in custody and he didn’t want to lose me. What he didn’t know was I was tired of running. From everything. From my past. From my memories. From my fears, but mostly from myself. No. I’d answer whatever they asked me. With my left hand I felt the diamond beneath the sweater. I’d tell them only what information they needed, nothing more. Disillusioned, I realized that there was no such thing as an impartial jury, a fair trial, or justice in the system. So, I did. I answered everything, surprised by how gently the police handled my interrogation. I wondered if that meant The Outfit had asked them to downplay the situation. They never mentioned The Outfit, nor did I. They didn’t mention the envelope. I assumed that meant that The Outfit’s men had recovered it. I took a deep breath. They had finally gotten what they wanted. God knows exactly what that was. They hadn’t known about the necklace. That might have seemed important, but the files and the picture? It made me want to shake my head, but I was too groggy. “Are you planning on charging Ms. Deseu with a crime?” Brock asked. “If not, she’s tired and needs to rest.” He’d been so wonderful. He’d been right behind Henderson on the path. He missed him by mere seconds. When Henderson tripped, apparently he’d not been the only one screaming. I had been as well. My cries alerted Brock to danger. He’d slowed enough to be

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fine. He’d helped me to my feet, careful of my injuries. My legs had been weak, but once up and on them, they worked just fine. The doctor had said that was not uncommon with my head injury and with the stun to my tailbone. It confused my system for a moment. I’d have bruises but there was no permanent damage. “No, Mr. O’Bannon, we won’t be filing charges.” The young officer looked around the E.R. “The police have determined the entire incident was an accident.” He frowned and watched me. “You and Mr. Henderson were in an area clearly marked as restricted. When you broke the law, you endangered your own lives and knowingly took the inherent risk as you continued down the hill.” “Will there be a fine for that?” Brock asked. “They’re still discussing that. It might be determined that everyone’s paid dearly enough, but I can’t guarantee that. All I can tell ye is that Henderson’s death has been ruled an accident.” The officer patted my arm. “His death was his own fault. You couldn’t have helped him.” Still, two men I wished dead -- were. I wasn’t exactly sure how to deal with that. I knew I didn’t kill either of them, but inadvertently ... “Ms. Deseu, we appreciate your help on this matter.” The officer closed his notebook and tucked it into the front pocket of his dark jacket. “You will be in town for a few more days, correct?” “No. I’ll fly home day after tomorrow.” My words were heavy from the pain medication they had given me in the emergency room. It made me think of Danni, wonder where she was and how soon I could see her. “Officer, don’t you have enough information? From your questioning, I’d think there nothing left. I’d really like to get her te bed.” Brock cradled me in his arms. “You have her card and her contact information. Surely, if you need further information, you can contact her.” Brock moved me toward the door. Bed sounded good. Bed with Brock even better. I looked over my shoulder. “Yes, please. If you need me for anything, do call.” The policeman nodded. Brock had managed to have a cab waiting for us. When he’d arranged it, I didn’t know, but it was thoughtful. “We’re not that far from the hotel. We can walk.” “Oh, no,” he said. “I’m protecting you. You know I’d have done it before but I couldn’t catch you. I’ve never seen anyone move as quickly as you did. Ye looked like a wee little sprite dashing off in that castle.” He chuckled. “When you dropped that envelope, I thought every single man jack there would die of heart failure.” “Do you think Bobby and Danni got away?” “Aye.”

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“That’s good.” I shut my eyes and leaned into his shoulder. It didn’t seem like a long ride. I shut my eyes and then we were there. Brock gently shook me with a motion of his shoulder. “Little angel, we’re here.” He helped me out of the cab. I looked to the tall columns of the hotel front and again marveled at the beauty. In my short stay in Ireland I had seen some of the most truly gorgeous land. I looked at Brock and expanded my thoughts past the land to encompass people, too. I’d also seen horrifyingly ugly things. Yet somehow, now that it was over, I knew in my heart that the good far outshined the bad. Lightning lit the night sky. “Ye ready to cuddle up in bed with me, luv?” Was I ever! “Yeah, let’s go.” “Not so fast, lovebirds.” Bobby! I ran to him, threw my arms around his neck, careful of my cast. “Hey! Good to see you.” I looked around. “Where’s Danni?” “Yeah, about that.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, Brock. Ahh. Danni and Mac had a little talk.” Rain began to fall. “And?” Brock pulled on my elbow trying to get me indoors. I wasn’t going anywhere. “It’s okay, Bobby.” Danni’s voice seemed scratchy and still a bit sedated. She walked out from under the hotel awning. Her wild red hair had curled into tighter ringlets. Her pale complexion seemed to show her throbbing blue veins. She looked distressed, but more clear than I had seen her. I ran to her, wrapping my arms around her. I noted she seemed thinner than when we’d last held each other. I wondered how much weight she’d lost. She kissed my cheek. “I’m still set on this story.” “I think you should rest.” Bobby stepped over and stood talking to Brock in low tones. There was heavy body language, but I focused on Danni instead. “Come home. Rest. When you feel better, we’ll come after them. You can’t do this alone.” She offered me a weak smile. “You did just fine. Look, Charlie, I understand I can’t go after The Outfit total. Not yet. But I’ve got a new angle to work.” “What’s that?” I asked. Bobby piped up. “Father Nolan and his role in the distribution of illegal substances. She’s going to bring her daddy down.” Danni nodded. “It’s time. I should have done it before he hurt so many.” “Good for you,” said Brock. “Good for her?” I turned toward him. “I just got her out. She’s coming home.”

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Her hand felt feather light on my cast. “Trust me on this, Charlie. I’ve got to do it. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” “Oh, right. Like you have done so far?” It was a low blow, but I couldn’t believe what she wanted to do. Bobby took a step back, frowning. He wrung his hands. Danni said, “I knew you’d feel that way. I appreciate what you did, everyone does, but you know how important this is to me. Think about it, Charlie. This is who I am, what I do.” Bobby nodded. “You’ve seen her father’s work first hand. It’s got to stop and while she’s here, she has connections. You know she’s made that contact with Narconon. Well, she’s got to do it.” “No.” I shook my head. No, dammit. J'en ai rien à foutre about her reasons. I took a breath. That wasn’t true. I cared. And they were all right. When would Danni have this chance again? I didn’t like it, but what choice did I really have. None. “Okay, but swear to me on my mother’s grave, if you need something, you’ll let me know.” Danni nodded. “Of course I will. And now that I know you know my hometown, it will be easier getting you here. From the looks of you and BH, I think it would be easy anyway. I love you. Thank you for understanding.” “I don’t understand.” I kissed her cheek. “But I do love you, and I know when you’re determined.” “Yes, ma’am.” Bobby breathed a huge sigh of relief. “You did what you came here for. Now I need to.” “I know. I don’t like it, but I know.” “That Aidan guy?” Bobby spilled the news. “He’s going to help her.” “Really?” “Yeah. He said he had some atoning to do.” He kissed me on the cheek and took Danni’s arm. “I’ve gotta go. Boy Wonder is needed elsewhere. Duties of a superhero’s sidekick never cease. Good to meet you, Brock.” He offered Brock his hand. “You, too.” “Be safe, both of you.” He nodded as he walked away, humming a tune, his steps light. Danni waved over her shoulder. Brock and I walked inside in silence. In the lift, he slipped his hand into mine. “You’re really leaving day after tomorrow?” I nodded, my throat suddenly closed off. Long distance romances could work. Couldn’t they? There was hope. Then why did I feel so empty? I had two whole nights and a whole day left with him, yet I already felt alone. Maybe I could stay. I was pretty sure I’d lost my

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job. Danni was here working. What did I have to go home to? Dusty silk plant? Not really worth the flight. “You planning on saying something tonight?” I asked when the silence continued. He waited until we got to the room. He unlocked it. “You already have your ticket?” “Yes.” In my naïveté, I’d purchased a trip home thinking I could come right over, find Danni, rescue her and go home. “Oh.” The door thudded shut. “Oh? That’s it?” Brock licked his lips. He took my jacket and his and hung them in the closet. “I don’t know what to say. Asking you to stay is selfish but watching ye go might be the death of me.” I sank onto the bed, kicked off my shoes, and started shimmying out of my jeans. “Do you remember when I told you about all the times Danni talked about you?” I nodded. “Since her very first e-mail about you all at the sorority house, I think I knew.” “Knew what?” I asked. I held my arms up over my head. Brock pulled the sweater off for me. “That I loved you. Now, don’t say anything. I loved you for what you were to Danni. How you were there for her, how you were able to be all the things I wasn’t. Then over the years, I loved you differently. I thought of you like you were my friend, too. The stories, Danni’s emotion. I knew it all as if it were my own.” I wanted to speak so badly. Instead, I crawled under the covers clad only in my bra and underwear. “I didn’t know if I’d ever meet you in person. If I did that would be great because, as I said I knew everything about you. Even if I hadn’t known the stories, I knew how much Danni loved you and that was enough.” He kicked his shoes off and then ushered them to the wall. With one hand on the back of his collar, he pulled his sweater and T-shirt off in one fluid movement. My breath caught. He was so beautiful. “I didn’t know if when we met, what you’d think of me or if we’d get on.” I laughed. “I think you can safely say we do.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “Aye. I’d say that. I’d also say you were more than I ever imagined. Now I can’t imagine life without you. Does that scare you?” “Ha. No. Should it?” He popped the top button on his jeans and my laughter died in my throat. He crawled into bed with me. The bed gave a small creak as his weight settled. “I want more than a few days in Ireland.”

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“You live here.” “No, little angel.” He nuzzled my neck, trailing light, warm kisses to the hollow of my throat. “With you.” Oh. “What do you want?” He kissed my breast through the material of my bra. His hot, moist breath contrasted with my cool skin, giving me goosebumps. A jolt of electricity sprang through my system. It sent little pins and needles to my extremities. “Have you ever considered loving a man in mergers and acquisitions?” “Does it mean you travel?” “Oh, aye.” He kissed my ribs, my belly, working his way lower. “I go all over.” “Then,” I used my good hand to reach out and grasp his shoulder, “you probably don’t have time for a lady friend.” I tried to choose my words carefully but it was so hard with his lips and tongue working a devilishly delightful distraction. “For you, luv ...” He slid up the length of my body. The hard evidence of his desire rubbed against me. He pressed to me, moaned as if from the glorious contact. “For you, I have all the time in the world. Or that’s what I want. I want forever.” “You mean date and see how it works.” He shook his head, lowering his lips to mine. Our eyes met. They held. His tongue traced my lips. Then slowly, he brushed his lips to mine with the faint contact of the ethereal. I tried to kiss him back but he pulled away. Then he came back. He kissed the corner of my mouth. Only the top lip. Then only the bottom. He deepened the kiss, full contact, and pulled my lip into his mouth. We never broke eye contact. “Can’t ye handle a commitment, Charlie?” “Are you serious?” His eyes said he was. “Really?” He nodded. I did too. Then I slid my leg up over his hip and hooked it there. I reached down between our bodies, slipping my hand into his pants. My fingers found him hard and aching to be free of the jeans. “Those buttons have to hurt.” He nodded. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “How about I help you with that? You were kind enough to help me.” I freed the rest of him, though working the fly was a little difficult. One, because I could use only my left hand and two, because I am not left-handed. To his credit, he never moved. He let me fumble with the buttons, fumble with his jeans and his underwear. Once he was free of his offending clothing, he pressed close to me. “Well, how about it, Charlie? You up for forever?”

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I laughed and said, “How about you convince me first. I’d hate to marry someone who can’t make me ...” What would be good? “Yodel.” “Oh? You want to cry out, do ye? Let me see what I can do.” And before the night was through, he convinced me several times over. I was looking to be a very happy bride.

Kally Jo Surbeck Award-winning author Kally Jo Surbeck splits her time between Colorado and Wyoming. Actively involved in CRW, RWA, KoD, and RBL, Kally has worked to spread the love of romance. She loves hearing from her readers, please feel free to contact her at [email protected] or join her readers’ group at [email protected].