"Dammit," he murmured as he tipped his head, gaze focused on her lips. "You know I’m not going to do either of those things."
"Then what are you going to do?" she whispered.
He considered it for a moment, but the lust was coursing through him and he couldn’t stop himself. He crushed his lips to hers in an instant and heard her moan as they met in a clash of tongues and lips and teeth.
It was a maelstrom of need, anger, loss, confusion. His grip on her hands loosened, and she wrapped them around his neck as his drifted south to cup her ass. He pulled her tight against him and she complied, shifting her hips to get the perfect angle.
They kissed and writhed and touched until Finn dug his fingers into her mass of hair, pulling her head back so he could look her in the eyes. She blinked at him, as if she’d just woken from a dream.
"I’m not going to kill you," he murmured. "But I’m also not going to tell you anything about Cian. I guess you’ll just have to keep hanging around and hope something slips." He flexed his hips ever so slightly so she could feel his erection against her hip.
Her gaze grew furious and she pushed at his chest, a growl of frustration rising from her throat. He grinned, the mobster appeased for now, the normal guy surfacing.
"Go to hell," she snapped, straightening her jacket and tucking a curl behind her ear.
"Pretty much already there," he replied as he walked back to the window and turned his back on her. "Nice to see you, Detective. I’m sure you can find your way out."
"Fuck you, MacFarlane," she said before he heard the front door slam shut.
He leaned his head against the glass and watched the lights through the rain again. What are you doing, Cian? he thought. And is it anywhere near as dangerous as what I’m doing?
* * *
Keira slammed out of the big glass doors on the front of Finn’s building. She strode down the sidewalk, the few people out in the dark rain scattering as she flew down the path like an angry crow, her trench coat flapping.
"Hey, watch it, lady," a twenty-something guy in Yeezis and a track suit said as she shoulder-checked him in her fit.
Keira reached for her badge that was clipped to her belt and yanked it off, pushing it in the guy’s face. "Why don’t you fucking watch it," she snapped.
The guy’s eyes grew wide. "Okay, yeah. Sure thing, officer." He held his hands up, fear painted across his face.
Shit. She took a calming breath. No white officer on the Chicago PD was oblivious to the effect they had on the black and Latino citizens of the city. She was being an idiot, and this guy shouldn’t be scared she was going to go rogue on his ass.
"Sorry," she said, lowering the badge. "Really. That was all me. I’m having a bad day at work. You ever had one of those?"
He lowered his hands slowly and smiled tentatively. "Yeah, sure."
"Well, I’m carrying a gun and a shield, so I’m not allowed to take my bad days out on other people. I’m sorry."
He nodded. "It’s good. I gotchu’, sister." He winked. Cheeky kid.
"You want my badge number? You can report me if you’d like," she offered.
He chuckled. "Naw. We cool."
She gave him a nod and a smile, then turned and continued toward her car parked at the corner, pace slower, temper under control. When she finally reached the CPD-issued Ford sedan, she climbed in, locked the doors, and leaned back in the seat. Her fingers drifted to her lips where, five minutes ago, Finn MacFarlane—a fucking mobster who was being indicted for conspiracy in murder and human trafficking—had been sucking and licking and devouring her as if she were his favorite meal.
"Jesus Christ," she murmured, closing her eyes to try to block the memory. But no, that just made it all the more real. The way he’d tasted—like whiskey and cinnamon. The way his five o’clock shadow had scraped across her chin. The feel of the muscles in his chest when he’d pulled her against him.
"No. No. No," she groaned, pounding a fist on the steering wheel. How the hell was she ever going to be the detective she’d set out to become if she went around kissing mobsters? And worse, enjoying it. "You’re an embarrassment to feminists everywhere, Keira," she told herself sternly. If her superiors ever got wind of this, she’d be back out on a beat in uniform in about thirty seconds flat.
The good thing was there was no one to tell them except for Finn, and they’d never believe him over her. Finn didn’t even command much respect as a thug. The Feds were constantly lamenting the fact that they hadn’t been able to grab Liam. He was prime meat in their playbook. Finn was a consolation prize.
Keira shook her head to clear it. And maybe that was part of Finn’s appeal—he was just enough bad boy to be exciting, but not so much he was truly scary. Because really, what girl wanted to be scared of the man she was in bed with? Certainly not her. But Finn? Yeah, he was only a little scary, and the rest was pure sexy. "Ugh," she groaned, leaning her head on the steering wheel.
Her phone chimed and she pulled it out of her pocket to read the text, then sighed. She’d planned on Finn’s condo being her last stop for the night. She’d been at work for over twelve hours now. But apparently, a search she’d asked the research clerks to do based on some fragments of wood found under Danny’s nails had come in. As long as she was already out, she might as well go learn what they’d found. She started the car and pulled out into traffic, heading for the office. She’d put this terrible mistake behind her. She’d find Cian, and she’d solve Danny’s murder. Kissing Finn MacFarlane had just been a speed bump on the way to victory.
Chapter 8
There’d been no warning. Not a you need to get dressed now or make sure you’ve taken a piss because we’re going out in a few. Nope. The Feds had just walked into his living room—the way they always did—and said, "Let’s go."
"We taking a field trip?" Finn asked, standing slowly from his sofa where he’d been drinking his morning coffee and reading a Hemingway novel for the sixth time. He only had one bookshelf, and apparently the Feds didn’t care to get him a library card.
"Just put your arms out," the agent instructed, dangling a pair of handcuffs, grim smile on his face.
"Mind if I put on some shoes first?" Finn pointed toward the foyer where his shoes were neatly lined up by the door.
The second agent rolled his eyes. "Who knew mobsters were so fuckin’ neat and tidy."
Finn ignored him and walked across the room, slipping his feet into a pair of Vans to go with the track pants and t-shirt he wore.
When he turned back, the agent with the cuffs had stepped closer. "Front or back?" Finn asked.
"Back," the agent replied, twirling his finger in the air.
Finn did a one eighty, then held his arms behind his back, hands fisted as the agent locked the cuffs on his wrists, tightening them just a tad too much for comfort.
"So, no hint about where we’re going?" he asked as they marched him out the door and down the hall toward the back staircase. The second agent was on his radio, talking to other agents positioned along the route to the parking garage. Finn barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. They were such dumbasses. His brother wasn’t going to start a shootout in broad daylight to rescue him, for fuck’s sake. Cian would get him out through legal channels, evidence that disappeared, or bribes. Not some sort of jailbreak scenario.
"You don’t need to know where you’re going," the agent answered as they started to descend the stairs. Finn was actually grateful for being able to walk down the dozens of flights, he’d been practicing his martial arts every day in his apartment, but it was tough to get a lot of exercise in nine hundred square feet.
"I love when you guys take me on surprise trips, though," Finn continued, gaze focused on the stairs beneath his feet since he didn’t have his hands free to use the railing. "Maybe we could go to Universal. I’d really like to see the new Harry Potter world."
"Shut the fuck up, MacFarlane," the second agent said as his radio squawked again.
; Finn shrugged. "Just sayin’, I hear Diagon Alley is amazing."
Once locked in the backseat of the car, seatbelt strapped across his chest, Finn focused on everything around him. He knew there was a possibility that Cian had his building under surveillance, so he watched, tuning out the rumbling voices of the agents, the sounds of traffic and the periodic static and distorted voices from the radios.
His gaze combed the surrounding street as they emerged from the parking garage, watching for anyone he might recognize, any sign that there were things happening outside his building that might help him—or hurt him.
He saw her first—Detective Watson. Keira. Her name rolled around in his head, and he immediately remembered the way she’d tasted, the silky feel of her tongue across his, the sound she’d made when he’d grabbed her ass and pulled her as close as they could get in clothing.
She was sitting in an unmarked cop car, directly across from the parking garage exit of his building, her window rolled down, seemingly not at all interested in hiding her presence. He knew the Feds weren’t playing nice with her, and apparently she didn’t care if they knew she was there.
The windows of the car he rode in were tinted, but he could have sworn she looked right at him as they rolled past her car, and when he let his gaze move to the side view mirror, he saw her pull out into traffic, following, a few cars back.
It was while he was watching her car in that little mirror that he noticed the second car, a low-slung dark coupe with blacked-out windows. It slid in between two SUVs, staying one car behind the detective’s. He didn’t know why it set off alarm bells for him, but it did. And as Finn’s journey to places unknown continued, he could see that neither the detective’s Ford, nor the dark coupe behind her, split off.
He felt like an idiot, he shouldn’t give a damn what the detective was doing, nor spend a millisecond thinking about her safety, but the prickling sensation on the back of his neck didn’t let up.
As they turned into the parking lot of Mercy Hospital, Finn finally knew what they were doing.
"My dad," he said quietly.
"Old man’s not going to get better," the agent driving said. "I wouldn’t have allowed you to visit, but your lawyer managed to get you thirty minutes to say your goodbyes. They don’t think your ma’s going to keep him plugged in more than another couple of days."
Finn’s chest hollowed out. Just emptied. He felt nothing. Not sorrow, not regret, not joy, nor relief. Of all his brothers, he’d had the slimmest excuse of a relationship with the old man. Robbie had Cian to be the polished leader, and Liam to be the rough muscle. Connor was the baby, pretty to look at, a star athlete, eager to please. Robbie hadn’t needed Connor like he did Cian and Liam, but he’d appreciated his strong, good-looking boy.
Then there was Finn. He was the smallest of the brothers, although still clocking in at a healthy six feet and a hundred eighty-five pounds. He didn’t appreciate violence, choosing that dreaded restraint instead. He’d spent a lot of time trying to find a way to get Robbie’s attention, unfortunately, when he did, it was usually for something negative. Finn didn’t handle things the way Robbie wanted. He didn’t have talents Robbie appreciated. Computers and numbers and being kind to their mother, Angela, weren’t things Robbie was looking for in his sons. But they were the things that Finn had excelled at.
Finn was the only MacFarlane brother who had attempted college, attending St Xavier for one semester before Robbie informed Finn and Angela that the experiment was over, and it was time for Finn to get to work in the family business like the rest of the boys.
But of all the things Robbie had done to Finn as a child—the beatings for being "weak”, the insults and putdowns, the whittling away at Finn’s dreams until all he was left with was the mob life—the one that had finally severed any emotion Finn had for his father was the day he’d seen Robbie hit Angela.
Finn knew Robbie was a violent man, but for whatever reason, he’d never thought that the old man would hurt Angela. Finn’s mother walked a fine line between imposing her will regarding things like religion and manners in the house with ignoring the bigger picture of what her husband and sons did to pay for that house.
But she had always walked that line precisely, to the best of Finn’s knowledge, and while he’d thought his father was an asshole, he’d never thought he was an asshole to Angela. None of his brothers had seemed to believe that was possible, either.
Then one night when Finn was a senior in high school, he’d arrived home after curfew. He knew Angela would be waiting up for him, rosary in hand as she prayed that nothing irreversible had happened to her third son.
He slid in the front door, enduring the usual smart-ass remarks from the men on guard duty—"You get in her pants, Finn?" "Do we need to do a breathalyzer on you, kid?" "Hey, Finn, you need some new condoms for tomorrow night?"
He’d just made it a few steps into the foyer when he heard them arguing.
"I don’t want another of the boys in the life." Angela’s desperate voice had travelled down the hall from Robbie’s study. "You have Cian and Liam, they’re in too deep now to do anything else, but I won’t allow you to take Finn and Connor, too."
He knew the smart thing was to make his way upstairs and thank the Holy Mother that no one was there to lecture him about missing curfew. But he’d never heard that particular tone in his mother’s voice before, and she’d said his name—he was like a moth drawn to the flame.
"Finn and Connor will work with the family, too," Robbie said with a growl. "They’re men. Men work for the family."
"No," Angela snapped. "You don’t get to decide that. If they want to that’s one thing, but I want them to have options. You don’t need them. There are plenty of other people’s sons you can pay to do your dirty work."
And that’s when he’d heard the crack of flesh hitting flesh. His mother gasped, and Robbie’s voice turned low and feral. "Don’t you ever try to tell me what to do with my sons again. My. Sons. Your job is to birth them, feed them, and keep them alive until they’re old enough to do the things that men do."
Finn pressed his back to the wall outside his father’s office, his breath caught in his chest as his mother made a small choking sound. Through the crack in the door, he could see Robbie’s hand around the fabric of Angela’s housecoat at her throat, pulling her up onto her toes as he loomed over her.
"As for my dirty work, I’ll remind you that it’s what pays for your precious church projects, your house and guards and the fancy clothes you give those boys."
Then he’d done the strangest thing. He’d released her, smoothed out the front of her housecoat, and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her on the temple softly.
"Now, my love," he’d continued, the tone in his voice entirely different than it had been moments before. "Let’s not talk about these things again. Why don’t you go on up to bed and I’ll wait for Finn."
And that was the moment that Finn understood his father wasn’t merely an asshole. No, he’d thought to himself, his seventeen-year-old brain throbbing with the reality of it, his father was more than mean and ugly and cruel…his father was evil.
"Come on, MacFarlane," the agent said as he stood in the open door of the car at the back entrance to the hospital. "Time to kiss Daddy goodbye."
Finn blinked for a moment, pulled out of his memories. He stood from the car, his gaze scanning the area, checking for threats, opportunities, knowledge. Years under his father’s tutelage had taught him to be aware, always.
He saw the detective’s car pulled along the far side of the parking lot under a tree, window rolled down again, and even from a distance he could feel her gaze on him. He tipped his chin a touch and let a wry smile crawl across his face. He’d told her she’d have to stick to him if she hoped to discover anything about his brother’s whereabouts, and she was doing it. He tried to ignore the pinch in his gut that reminded him the only reason she was stalking him was because she was after Cian.
Every instinct Finn had honed over years of working for his family kicked in as he shook off the hold of the agents, shouting, "Get down!" at the same time. The blacked-out window of the coupe rolled down as the muzzle of an AK slid out. The driver gunned the engine to pull even with Keira’s car, but she was already down. As he moved toward her car, only able to stumble awkwardly because of his cuffed hands, Finn saw the passenger door of her car swing open, and he knew she’d crawled out in the small space between the curb and fence.
The rapid-fire shots tore through the CPD sedan, and Finn’s heartbeat slowed as he watched the glass, upholstery and metal fragments scatter in all directions. He heard the agents behind him shouting, and somewhere in the back of his head he knew this was probably going to end very badly for him, but all he could focus on was Keira Watson on the ground, bullets flying all around her.
He had to get to her. He just had to.
* * *
"He wasn’t trying to escape! He saved my fucking life!"
Finn’s head swam, and someone was yelling like a banshee.
"Look, Detective, he’s in Federal custody, and while I agree that those buffoons weren’t there to break him out, he still ran from the agents and ignored a direct order. You know as well as I do we can’t just allow prisoners to decide when they’re going to obey. MacFarlane’s no fool, if you think he wasn’t taking advantage of that little interlude to make a run for it, then maybe you need to go back to detective school."
Finn could hear the smirk in the man’s voice, and he wanted to say something, something in Keira’s defense—and his own. He hadn’t actually been trying to make a run for it, he’d tell them. He was trying to get to her. Trying to throw his body over hers like a human shield.
Touch of Dark: Dublin Devils 3 Page 6