Forever Mine: Callaghan Brothers, Book 9

by Abbie Zanders

  A pile of snow sat just inside the door, deposited there by the swirling winds. A beam of light shone in from the dusk-to-dawn light in the lot, providing just enough illumination for him to know the room was empty.

  Jack paused, listening.

  The hair on the back of his neck prickled, forcing him to clamp down on the urge to call out for her. It was an instinctual warning, one he had learned not to ignore. Pine Ridge wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, but bad things did occasionally happen. If the feeling in his gut was anything to go by, this was one of those times.

  Jack stepped carefully across the floor on silent feet, calling upon his training, opening his senses. He cocked his head, listening beyond the gusts of wind rattling the windows and the normal creaks and moans of the old building.

  He went to the bar area first, freezing in the door frame when the smell of hard liquor hit him. In the light of the streetlamps shining through the dirty windows, he saw the winking glass remains of several bottles. By the looks of it, every last one had been removed from the shelves and smashed.

  For one brief moment, he wondered if Kathleen might have taken out her fiery Irish temper on the inventory, but quickly dismissed the idea. She had come back to him, told her mother her place was with him. And even if she was still angry with him, she wouldn’t do something as mean-spirited as this.

  Which meant that Kathleen had been alone in the Pub with a malicious intruder. Someone had broken in either before she arrived or shortly after. Cold fear gripped his heart and overwhelmed him, nearly bringing him to his knees.

  Please, let her be safe in our bed, asleep and unaware, he prayed silently. And let me find the bastard who did this before that changes.

  He had to focus, he commanded himself as he fought for breath. Panic, going in half-cocked, wasn’t going to help her. She was a clever, smart woman. And, as he had reminded her only that morning, he was a highly-trained, skilled killer.

  Jack slipped behind the bar, running his fingers beneath the taps for the hidden Glock he’d secured there as a precautionary measure, never imagining he would need it so soon.

  His heart bottomed out. It was gone.

  He moved further down, silently breathing in relief when he found his Ka-Bar knife taped behind the speedrack well. He would have preferred to have both, but he was as skilled with the familiar blade as he was with a gun. And in this case, an up-close-and-personal, silent kill was sounding mighty appealing.

  A loud thump sounded on the other side of the wall, as if someone had punched it, followed by the low rumbles of a masculine voice. Jack stilled; it was too muffled to make out the words but the tone was decidedly angry.

  The noise had definitely come from the storeroom, an interior room with only one obvious entry and exit. Jack knew of another, a throwback to the days of Prohibition. A feral grin curled his lips as he slipped into mission mode. He had a decided tactical advantage: he knew the layout, had a hidden entry/exit point, and years of SEAL training and combat experience. The bastard intruder didn’t stand a chance.

  And if he’d dared harm a hair on his croie’s head, his death would be excruciatingly slow and painful instead of quick and efficient.

  Jack tucked the fear away, a cold, practiced calm settling over him. This was what he knew, what he did best.

  He crouched down and moved down the length of the bar until he came to the far end of the shelving, feeling along the wall for the release. When found it, he pressed down. The hidden pocket door slid noiselessly aside, revealing the secret passage.

  Blade in hand and at the ready, Jack crept silently down the small corridor toward the entrance to the storeroom. The closer he got, the more clearly he heard someone moving around. Heavy feet shuffled across the dirty floor. A few mutters and grunts preceded the sound of a box hitting the floor, followed by muffled thumps and breaking glass.

  The bastard was destroying everything in the store room as well!

  Jack stayed low, entering the room in silence and shadow. A large flashlight sat on top of an empty keg barrel, providing the only illumination in the room. A dark mass wrestled with another large box atop a stack of others, cursing.

  And, thank God, there was no sign of Kathleen.

  “Stupid old man... Thinks he can get away with this... Should have been mine...” Another box fell heavily to the floor. The dark figure stumbled, then howled when some of the contents landed on his foot.

  The voice was vaguely familiar; Jack struggled to place it. He knew for certain he’d heard it before, but not often enough to immediately recognize. The words were slurred, as if whoever spoke them had not only been wrecking the inventory, but indulging in it as well.

  With a twinge of irritation, Jack realized he wouldn’t be able to kill the intruder in good conscience if he was drunk, but a painful disable was definitely on the agenda.

  The dark, shadowy figure moved into his line of sight, little more than a black silhouette. Jack was just standing up to end the guy’s trashing spree and get some answers when another sound had him freezing.

  “Don’t move, or I’ll blow yer feckin’ head off.”

  Kathleen! Jack’s gaze snapped to the doorway across from the hidden entrance. The glow of the outside streetlamps outlined her wee form; the illumination of the flashlight cast her features in relief. Hair tussled and free, wearing nothing but Jack’s shirt, and levelling a gun at the intruder (his Glock?), she looked like a fierce, avenging angel.

  Jack had never seen her look more beautiful. Or been more terrified. He was going to put her over his knee for being so reckless. Right after he held her in his arms and told her how much he fucking loved her.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the guy demanded.

  “I’m the owner,” she said clearly. “And you’re trespassing.”

  Pride welled up in Jack’s chest at her words, right along with anger that she’d be foolish enough to take on an attacker by herself, and stark terror that she’d be hurt.

  “You’re the owner?” the man asked in disbelief. He scratched his head as if trying to work through that.

  Jack could only see his dark silhouette, but it was enough to recognize the shape of the crowbar in the hand not currently raised. From her position at the door, Kathleen wouldn’t see it.

  Calling upon his years of training, Jack forced his fear for Kathleen down once again and assessed the situation. Nearly the entire length of the narrow room separated him from his bride. The intruder stood between them with a weapon, within lunging distance. Toppled boxes and broken bottles littered the floor, making stealth difficult.

  There was no way for Jack to get around him without making his presence known, but if Kathleen kept the guy’s attention, he could conceivably get close enough to disarm and subdue. Willing her to not do anything stupid, he moved forward with extreme caution.

  “Yes, I am,” she answered.

  “I thought Jack Callaghan bought this place.”

  “Jack Callaghan is my husband.”

  Jack’s heart swelled at the way Kathleen spoke those words, with such clarity and conviction. Under other circumstances, he’d be tempted to beat his chest. He was going to show her how much he appreciated that, but it would have to wait until after he took care of this trash.

  “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop your vandalizing,” Kathleen continued. Jack took another careful step, crouching behind the stacks of boxes the bastard hadn’t yet smashed. One more would put him out in the open.

  The intruder laughed, a barking, ugly sound that echoed in the small space. “Or what?”

  Kathleen didn’t hesitate. “Or I’ll shoot you where you stand and leave you for the paramedics to sort out.”

  Shite! Jack wanted her to distract him, not antagonize him. He needed to be just a little closer...

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me.”

  The wail of sirens sounded in the distance, growing louder with each breath.


  “You called the cops?” the man growled at Kathleen.

  “Of course I did. You broke into my home, you piece of - ”

  Several things happened in the span of one thundering heart beat to the next. The vandal made an angry, growling sound and lurched forward, raising the crowbar as if to attack. Jack abandoned his plan and lunged, intent on taking the man out before he could get to Kathleen. And Kathleen pulled the trigger twice in quick succession.

  Jack felt the angry burn of the bullet piercing his shoulder even as he landed on the guy, who was already halfway to the ground. The keg holding the flashlight tipped; the light landed on the floor and rolled, temporarily blinding him.

  “Kathleen, get out!”

  “Jack?! Oh my God, Jack!”

  Kathleen’s panicked cries rent the air, piercing in their intensity.

  “Stay back!” he barked when she tried to come closer. Could not the woman listen to him just this once? Compartmentalizing the pain (something at which he had become quite adept), Jack’s first priority was neutralizing the assailant. Although it quickly became clear that wasn’t going to be an issue. The guy was writhing on the floor, sobbing and wailing, one hand alternately going from his thigh to his arm.

  “You shot me! You fucking shot me! You crazy bi-”

  Jack ended the bastard’s tirade with a single punch to the jaw. The guy’s head snapped and hit the hardwood floor boards with a dull thud. In the next moment Kathleen was on Jack, knocking him backwards.

  “Jack!”

  She ran her hands over him, planted desperate kisses all over his face, her eyes huge in worry and panic. It would have been comical if his heart still hadn’t been in his throat. Instead of answering, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to him in a soul-searing kiss.

  “Are you hurt?” he whispered huskily.

  “No!”

  Jack commanded her lips again until he felt her soften against him, though he kept one eye on the prone figure. Only then did his pounding heart begin to calm and his anger begin to surface and override the fear of something happening to her.

  “What the hell were you thinking, taking on an intruder by yourself?”

  “You weren’t here,” she mumbled into his chest. “You weren’t here and he was destroying everything!”

  He rubbed her back. “Nothing is more important than you, Kathleen. Jesus,” he said emphatically. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Police!” shouted a male voice from the vicinity of the back entrance.

  “In the storeroom, Sheriff,” Jack called out.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Jack,” Corey McFlannigan said, shaking his head as he pointed the beam of his powerful flashlight around the room and took in the scene. “What the hell happened?”

  Jack eased his grip on Kathleen, but kept her close. “I came home to find that guy busting up the place and threatening my wife.”

  “You shot him?”

  “I shot him,” Kathleen clarified. “It was self-defense. He was coming after me with a crowbar.”

  The sheriff crouched down and put his fingertips to the man’s neck. “He’s alive.”

  “Of course he’s alive! I shot to disable, not to kill. It was Jack’s punch that knocked him out.”

  “Hmphf.” The beam of the flashlight swept over the unconscious man. “Can we get some lights in here?”

  “Over your head, Sheriff.”

  Sheriff McFlannigan directed the powerful beam upward and stood, then pulled on the dangling string. The one hundred watt bulb lit up the small room, revealing the path of destruction. It appeared as though the guy had made it through nearly half the inventory before Kathleen confronted him, a fact that made a shiver run up and down Jack’s spine. Ripped and broken boxes littered the floor, pieces of broken glass poking up through liquor-soaked cardboard. It was a wonder none of them had been skewered. A few kegs had been toppled over as well, but the sturdy metal construction limited the damage to a few dents.

  Of more immediate interest was the unconscious man currently bleeding all over his floor. A quick cursory exam revealed one gunshot wound above the knee and another in the upper arm. “We need an ambulance.”

  “Already done,” Kathleen informed him. “I called them right after I called you.” When both men turned to her, she added simply, “There was little chance he was going to get out of here unharmed.”

  A low growl emanated from Jack’s throat, but Kathleen pointedly ignored it.

  Sheriff McFlannigan kicked the crowbar out of immediate reach. “What about you, Jack?” he asked, nodding his head in Jack’s direction. “That yours or his?”

  Jack looked down at the blossoming red stain on his shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

  Kathleen turned her gaze to his shoulder. “That’s yours?!?” she demanded, slipping from his grip. “I thought that was his!” She moved behind him, her hands searching. “Nothing?! Oh God... when you took him down... I didn’t mean it! I didn’t know you were hit!”

  The sheriff turned his gaze toward them. “That true, Jack? You’re hit?” he asked calmly. Far too calmly in Kathleen’s opinion, if her gasp was anything to go by.

  “Of course it’s true!” she shrieked. “Why would I lie about something like that?” She turned back to Jack, pressing her hands against the wound. “We have to stop the bleeding. Sheriff, give me your shirt!”

  Wincing, Jack gently pulled Kathleen away and held her firmly to his side with his uninjured arm. She meant well, but her pushing on the wound wasn’t helping any.

  “I’m fine, Sheriff. It was a clean shot, right through.”

  Kathleen huffed. “Fine my arse! This man needs medical attention! Why are we just standing here? We have to get to the hospital!”

  It was impossible to miss the sheriff’s quirking lips. “She’s right, Jack. We should get you checked out. Go on ahead. I’ll wait for the ambulance and take care of this guy.” McFlannigan pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt. “I’ll get your full statements at the hospital.”

  Jack wanted to argue that he didn’t need to go anywhere. That he’d seen and been through a hell of a lot worse than a flesh wound. But one look at Kathleen’s stricken expression and he knew he had to go for her benefit.

  “All right,” he sighed. “Thanks, Sheriff.” He looked down at Kathleen. Her face was pale, her eyes too bright. “Come on. Let’s get some clothes on you. I’m driving.”

  “The hell you are. Stay here while I run upstairs. Sheriff, if he even tries something stupid, cuff him.”

  Before either man could respond, Kathleen took off like a shot, escaping the confines of the storage room by leaping over the destruction with the grace of a deer. Jack’s respect for Corey McFlannigan rose a notch when the sheriff didn’t stare at her bare legs and kept his knowing smirk well-hidden.

  “Do you know this guy?” the sheriff asked.

  Jack stepped closer and peered down into the guy’s face. “Looks vaguely familiar. Should I?”

  “This here is Jimmy Foster, one of Danny Finnegan’s good for nothing sons-in-law. Word must have made it out to whatever rock he crawled under that the old man sold the place. I’m guessing Jimmy wasn’t too happy about that.”

  “I thought Danny’s daughters moved away years ago.”

  McFlannigan shrugged. “They did, but Sheila moved back to Pennsylvania not too long ago. Said she missed the seasons. But most folks think it was Jimmy’s doing, saying he was hoping to get in the old man’s graces before he died so he could get the Pub.”

  Danny’s unwillingness to keep the Pub in his family made a lot more sense.

  Kathleen reappeared, looking somewhat flushed but otherwise none the worse for wear. Dressed in jeans, snow boots, and a thick cable knit sweater, she waved a set of keys at him. “Come on, I’ve already got my car warming up.”

  “We are not taking that death trap,” Jack informed her firmly.

  “You did not just ins
ult my car.”

  “We’ll take the Galaxie. It’s heavier, and has the chains.”

  “Fine,” she acquiesced, reluctantly. “But I’m still driving.”

  The drive to the hospital was no less harrowing than his trip to and from Birch Falls, but not because of the weather conditions. The heavy snow had tapered off to flurries, and the road crews had done a commendable job getting the main streets plowed and cindered. Jack was forced to reconsider his concession of allowing Kathleen to drive when she made the twenty minute trip in less than ten.

  She slid right up to the Emergency entrance and all but bullied him inside, informing anyone within earshot that her husband was shot and demanding immediate attention.

  They were shown to a tiny curtained off area right away, probably to keep Kathleen away from the general population. With some quick thinking and a lot of stroking, kissing, and reassurance, Jack managed to prevent her from stalking the halls and accosting anyone who looked like a doctor. The ER was short-staffed due to the weather, and a serious accident involving a salt truck and Gremlin took a higher priority.

  It took half the night, but they finally made it back to the pub. Jack’s shoulder was bandaged, his arm in a sling to keep him from moving it too much, and Kathleen was hovering over him like a mother hen. There were definitely worse things than being pampered, he decided as she brought him a glass of water and fluffed up his pillow. But they had more important things to discuss.

  “Enough,” he said, firmly but gently, as he wrapped his large hand around her wrist. “Cease your fussing.”

  “Just let me get another blanket,” she protested. She tried to pull away, but he would not allow it. Instead, he tugged her onto the bed with him. She was close, but not close enough. He needed the physical contact. His logical mind knew that she had not been physically harmed, but the illogical part kept generating images of what might have happened.