Chapter Twenty
Fionn was deep in purgatory—and hell, weird as it might seem.
Purgatory because they’d made little progress on either Ferrina’s location or finding the money Robert had left behind. Not for lack of trying. He and Mack worked tirelessly on the issue, Mack during the day and Fionn at night, while Deacon and King ran backup and kept watch on the property. On the watchers they knew were out there, even if they couldn’t see them. Lyse spent every night scanning files, asking questions, chasing rabbits.
And that’s where the hell came in. Because he was next to her every night, all night. Chairs side by side. Her scent filled his lungs through the long hours; her warmth tempted him. During the day when they slept, it was together, curled around each other—with four knowing, pacing adults right outside their door. For Lyse’s first time, he wanted more than the kind of rushed coupling he could give her right now, no matter how much the wait felt like it was killing him.
It had finally settled in his mind, the fact that they were going to be together, were actually together. Knowing that had changed everything. For years he’d endured a kind of low-level arousal whenever he saw Lyse—and had slaked it on other women, he was ashamed to admit. Not that he’d truly realized that’s what he was doing. After that first taste of her here in Ireland, the arousal had become a fire burning deep and strong, but it had been mixed with an anger he couldn’t seem to block. Now?
Now there was nothing but need. Desire. Every breath he took seemed to stoke it higher, hit him harder.
He needed action—of any kind—before he went completely insane. That moment felt like it was creeping closer all the time.
“What we’re needin’ is more intel,” Mack said, frustration in every smack of the sponge against the dishes he washed.
“From where?” Deacon grabbed a plate from the drain and swiped it with a towel, then handed it off to King to put away. “Even with your access, we’ve hit dead end after dead end.”
“We’re needing a new road then.”
Deacon hmphed. “Sure, but where?”
It was the question they were all struggling with; Deacon had simply asked it first.
“What about an informant? Someone, maybe off the radar, who might have information?” Fionn asked. He’d worked plenty of cases where the local drug dealer or prostitute knew more than law enforcement ever would.
“I can’t ask around like that. The criminals around here”—Mack threw a grin over his shoulder, hands still plunged into the stack of dirty dishes and water—“know me very well.”
“I bet.” Deacon laughed.
“You can’t be asking around,” Fionn agreed. “That doesn’t mean I can’t.”
And that was how he found himself walking into the Bog at ten o’clock that night. The place was dark, small, with thick wood wainscoting that had been marred by years of nicks and scrapes, and white walls that were dingy with smoke. Every inch of visible wall space was overlaid with graffiti, and the low ceilings were lined with bottle caps. Perfect for the locals who ran in questionable circles. Fionn took a corner stool at one end of the bar, a good vantage point to assess the crowd and find just the right target. After the bartender set a pint in front of him, he eased his shoulder against the wall and settled in to watch and wait.
And drink. Guinness only tasted right in Ireland.
He spotted the woman with a quarter of his glass still to go. She came in the front door to a chorus of greetings and whistles and waves to join a table. A shirt that fell off one shoulder, skintight jeans and heels, long wavy red hair, freckles scattered along her nose—she looked like the senior every boy had wanted to feck, and maybe some of them had since if they were lucky. They all treated her well because they’d grown up with her, knew her…the kind of homegrown beauty that made other women snub her. If her nose wasn’t too high in the air, she would be a perfect source of information.
Fionn allowed his eyelids to drop to half-mast, hiding his expression. The redhead chose a stool about four over from his and leaned onto the wood to make eye contact with the barkeep at the opposite end.
He was already heading her way. “Here ya are, Laura.” The man’s surly frown actually turned into a smile as he passed the woman a glass of something lighter in color than Fionn’s Guinness. A hard cider, maybe.
“You’re a dear, Bud.” She took a sip.
“Only you would say that, ’n’ you know it.”
She laughed. “They don’t know you like I do.”
The older man softened even more. “You need another,” he said, jerking a stubble-covered chin toward her drink, “come ’n’ see me.”
“I will.”
Fionn watched the exchange from the corner of his eye, not wanting to piss off the protective barkeep. Only when the man traveled back to the other end to help a trio of overly loud men in too much leather did Fionn turn his gaze back on the woman. Laura.
She was already eyeing him, a subtly sexy smile on her lips, the kind that could be taken for interest if welcomed, or ignored as simply friendly if not. Fionn let a return smile curve his own lips.
“Hello.” She slipped from her stool and chose the one beside him. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
“I haven’t been here before.”
He made the words warm, flirty, but found himself disconnected from them, as if he was on autopilot, his mind taking snapshots of every move, every gesture, every word, and deciding on the appropriate response from past experience rather than current attraction. This was a beautiful woman, about Lyse’s age, but she didn’t spark more than a vague appreciation inside him. Nothing like he felt with Lyse.
One taste. That was all it took to ruin you.
Hell yeah. He grinned at himself, though Laura responded with a smile.
“New in town, yeah?” She leaned an elbow on the bar, propping her chin on her raised fist.
“Just visiting,” Fionn said. “My mam’s here.”
“Oh, I figured you were with that new crew that came in last night,” Laura said. “They’re new too. Seems to be a lot of that going around lately.”
“Is that a complaint?”
Her smile this time revealed dimples that made her look sixteen instead of midtwenties. Sweet, that’s what she was. “When they look like you, no.”
His laugh was genuine. “I’m way too old for you, love.” Probably for Lyse to, but he didn’t give a feck about that.
She sipped her drink and eyed him. “A girl likes a man who knows what he’s doing.”
He bet she did. “That crew you mentioned— A friend of mine said he was headin’ this way for work soon. Big, blonde Swede, yeah? Maybe he was here last night?” He didn’t have a Swedish friend, but one of the images Lyse had managed to pull of the head of the Irish Cartel showed him with at least one big, blonde bodyguard.
Something sparked in Laura’s eyes. “I—”
“Laura!”
The bark came from behind her. It startled Laura, but not Fionn—he’d watched the man leave the dark corner he’d been skulking in, determination on his face, and head for the woman as soon as she’d taken the seat next to Fionn. A jealous would-be lover or ex, maybe? No, he didn’t see this sweetheart with a man tough enough to run with the Irish Cartel. Maybe someone who didn’t want certain gossip spreading to strangers?
“What the feck, Dylan?” Laura swiped at the splash of cider that had stained her thigh when she jumped at the man’s interruption.
Fionn’s body tensed, waiting for Dylan’s next move. If he thought it would be aimed at Laura, Fionn would show him otherwise. Maybe a nice kick to the head. Or balls.
“Isn’t Aiden here?” the man asked, his dark eyes never leaving Fionn’s face. “Maybe you should be finding somewhere else to sit.”
“I’ll sit where I please,” Laura said, assuming he was talking to her, “and I don’t need my brother’s permission. Go away.”
“Laura—”
Laura glanced ove
r her shoulder. “Bud!”
Her call was answered immediately by the presence of the barkeep, almost as if he’d been listening for her. “Whatcha need, girl?”
Laura gave Fionn a wink on the side neither of the other men could see. “Dylan here is being an asshole.”
Bud’s arm shot out without warning, and he grabbed Dylan by the ear, leading him down the bar away from Laura, cursing the whole way. Dylan’s cries got a few of the onlookers to laughing. Laura went back to sipping her cider, calm once more, a full smile on her lips.
“That was pretty impressive,” Fionn said, meaning it. He’d be wary of Dylan in any situation—the guy just gave off that kind of vibe—but Laura hadn’t hesitated.
“Bud”—she nodded toward the barkeep, now giving the younger man a stern talking-to, as Fionn’s mam would call it, at the end of the bar—“is my uncle. All the men here know not to be givin’ me a hard time.”
“I don’t think Dylan is after listening to that advice,” he said.
“He will be once my brother and his friends catch him walking home tonight.”
Fionn laughed, Laura joining in. He liked her; she had guts, just like his Lyse. He also didn’t want to lie to her, not now. Feck, he didn’t want to risk her brother and his friends catching up to him, yeah?
Leaning an elbow on the bar, he lowered his voice the tiniest bit. “Laura, I’m needin’ to be honest with ya here.”
She went still, her gaze searching. It dropped to his left hand, found a naked ring finger, and a deep vee formed between her brows. “About what?”
“I’m not really here looking for…” No, he didn’t really want to spell that out, so he left it hanging. “I really am looking for the man I mentioned, and I do think he was here last night. With a group of men I’m also looking for. Anything you could tell me about them?”
“Why?”
“Because like Dylan, I think they’re out to cause trouble, and my mam is at the top of that list.”
She didn’t ask who his mam was. North Quigley had gotten big enough, he doubted she would know Siobhan, but trusting her or not, he wouldn’t give his mam’s name to anyone.
“They did look like trouble,” she said. He could see the wheels turning behind those eyes. “Quiet, not really partying even though they drank. Bud sent me home not long after I got here.”
Smart man.
“One of the men passed by on his way to the toilet, talking on his cell. Something about picking up petrol for a generator. Whoever was on the other end was mentioning Scaffe’s Road, out by the R202; I heard him repeat it.”
Instinctively he reached to give her hand a squeeze as he stood. Ferrina was living off the grid; with electric, he wouldn’t need a generator. And now they had a general location. Mack should be able to work with that. “Thank you.”
Laura glanced at his hand, then into his eyes. “Going already? You could stay a bit.”
“Any man would be pleased with that invitation,” he said gently, “but I’m taken.”
The words surprised them both. The sadness that filtered into Laura’s expression bothered him more than he’d like to admit, but he didn’t regret telling her. The honesty she’d given him had deserved honesty in kind.
She turned her hand beneath his and gave him a squeeze. “She’s a lucky wan.”
Fionn smiled. “I think that’s the other way round, love.”
He was the lucky one, he thought as he left the pub. Lyse hadn’t kneed his balls into his chest cavity the first night he’d shown up here. She’d allowed him into her bed. And she would give herself to him when the time was right.
He was the lucky one indeed.
Chapter Twenty-One
“What do you think?” Fionn asked Mack on the way back to the house.
“I’m thinking of several possibilities out that way. The problem is narrowing it down without eyes.” The older man shook his head. “We’re spread too thin for my liking as it is.”
“Mine too.” As it was, Fionn hadn’t liked being gone this long. They’d managed to hide his presence in the SUV until Mack had gotten closer to town, leaving the impression that three of the men still waited inside, but searching several locations could take all four of them hours. They couldn’t leave Siobhan that long without protection.
“Does Lyse have satellite capability?” Mack asked, his voice thoughtful. And that’s when the lightbulb went off in Fionn’s head as well.
“If she doesn’t, I have no doubt she can get it.” His girl was smart—and sneaky.
Mack’s foot settled more heavily on the gas pedal.
They’d been gone no more than two hours, but Fionn itched to hurry inside, to Lyse—and not just to ask her to hack satellite surveillance for them. When they reached the office, she was right where he’d left her, in front of her computer, fingers flying as code flashed faster across the screen than he could be hopin’ to comprehend. Her thick hair was up in a messy bun, leaving that vulnerable spot at the base of her neck bare. Without thinking, he walked up behind her, grasped her shoulders, and bent to nuzzle that spot that called to him every time he saw it.
Lyse went stiff.
He stilled. “You all right, love?”
Slowly the tension beneath his palms lessened. “Yeah, sure.” She threw him a smile over her shoulder, but he saw the strain in it. “Just not used to the PDA yet.” A flash of worry lit her eyes, like she was afraid she’d offended him. “I like it, don’t get me wrong. Don’t stop.”
The last two words were whispered as Mack entered the room. They hit Fionn like a kick to the gut, the fact that she felt she had to ask for his affection to not be stopping, but when Deacon and King both piled into the room, he knew there’d be no asking her about it right now. Instead he brushed a kiss along her temple and straightened.
Mack pulled out the second computer chair and sat. “Did you ask her yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Can you get us some satellite surveillance time?”
And that was all they discussed for the next couple of hours. How to get it, where. Then Lyse got to work while the others went to bed. Fionn knew better than to try to talk when she was this deep into her work—all he’d get were grunts and the random uh-huh—so he settled for supplying food and watching his own screens, which still showed nothing. If Ferrina had a physical team on them, they were good. They’d found occasional tracks during their perimeter checks, but no sightings on surveillance. Maybe Ferrina was one step ahead of them and had drone or satellite technology.
The thought worried him. It meant the minute they put his mam in a car and tried to get her out of here, Ferrina could track them. Outside this house she was vulnerable. The man was biding his time until he had easier access than a well-defended home, and they all knew Siobhan couldn’t stay here forever.
By morning Lyse had her report for Mack and a stack of surveillance photos for him to go through. They left the lot in his hands after breakfast and went to lie down. He gave her the shower first, then took his, returning to crawl into bed and curl against her back just as he’d done every morning for the past week. And just like every other morning, his cock stiffened immediately. He didn’t bother trying to hide it—Lyse should know he needed her. He wanted her to know, to get comfortable with it, with him.
This morning, though, she tensed against him, just as she had in the office earlier. Fionn narrowed his eyes on her shoulder. “What’s the story, love?”
“What do you mean?”
Even her voice was low, strained. Using his hand on her belly, he pulled until Lyse lay flat on her back, her shoulder digging into his chest, her head just beneath his—close enough to kiss. But it wasn’t kissing he had in mind right now. “Something’s eatin’ at ya; I can feel it. Tell me what it is, Lyse.”
Her eyes slowly rose to meet his, their depths hidden in the shadows of the room, but he could read her body—the way her stomach muscles clenched beneath his palm, the way her breath went quick and l
ight, the way her hand trembled as she brought it up to cup his cheek, the stubble rasping against her silky skin. It didn’t stop there, though; she slid around to his nape and did some pulling of her own, bringing his mouth to hers.
A growl vibrated through his chest as he tasted her. Sweet and minty, that was his Lyse. That sense of disbelief, of surprise that they were here, together, that after all they’d been through, they’d found this, rose in him like it always did when he touched her. He savored it, savored her, pushing his tongue deep, leaning over her to take control, to take all he could get from the sweetness of her mouth. He had to fight not to cover her, to force her body completely beneath his, to find the relief he so desperately needed from the fire that swallowed him every time they kissed, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Not yet.
Lyse seemed to have other ideas. That small hand slid from his neck to his chest, spiking his nipples, and down to abs that clenched beneath her touch. His breath picked up as she traced the lines there, his navel, the ridge of his muscle from hip to groin. God, he had to put a stop to this. Her mouth was open and hot and so good beneath his, her body yielding to him, and her hand…
Feck, she was going to kill him.
That hand dipped lower, grazing the tip of his rock-hard cock. A grunt escaped him, half surprise, half hold it tight, tight, tighter till I come screaming your name.
She did hold him, but it wasn’t tight. More like a butterfly fluttering against his cock. Because she was shaking.
He grasped her hand in his, moved back. “Lyse?”
“I need to touch you.”
That was what she said, but the trembling in her body said something else. “We need to stop. It’s okay. You’re—”
“You let her touch you.”
Shock jolted his heart. “How did you know that?”
Destroy Me (Southern Nights: Enigma Book 3) Page 13